A Serpent in the Garden
by Eqgz
Summary: A programmer attempts to create a simulation of the Digital Dimension and its inhabitants and succeeds beyond his wildest dreams. When his creation grows beyond his control he has to decide what his responsibilities are-- and where his loyalties lie.
1. Surprise

**Disclaimer:**

**Most of the characters herein are trademarked by Bandai and/or Toei. This work is derivative of the Digimon television series and is in no way meant to imply ownership or infringe on any trademark or copyright.**

**/\/\/\/\/\**

A Serpent in the Garden  
by Eqgz

Chapter 1  
Surprise

Greg was a genius in the same way that the Big Bang was a little bit warm. He had five patents for unique approaches to artificial intelligence algorithms by the time he had completed his graduate degree and had dozens of corporations desperately headhunting him before he'd completed grad school. By the time he'd gotten his doctorate he could have had any programming job he wanted. So he went with what he loved-- video games.

Nearly everyone told him he was wasting his talent. The creepy guy from DARPA had told him he'd never make a difference in the world by making and playing games. Greg thought the sort of _difference_ he might make by developing self-aware military robots or deadly espionage machines wasn't what he wanted to do with his life. Besides, the game companies paid _way_ better than any government job.

What Greg couldn't imagine was that his work would change the world more drastically than anything since mankind's ancestors had decided to try walking upright.

Greg's NPC's were legendary among MMOPRG players. Often, players would communicate with them for hours or days, go on several missions with them, and even start friendships with them in OOC chats before realizing they weren't real people. But that was just the AI bots Greg developed at work. He purposely limited them at the insistence of his boss at UltraWare. His truly brilliant programming he reserved for his own private project.

At home (the house he shared with another programmer and animator from work) he had created his own virtual world on a super-system that had cost him half a year's salary. The project was simple in concept. It was just a full realization of the world envisioned in the Anime TV show that Greg had loved as a youngster: The Digital Dimension.

/\/\/\/\/\

Renamon stood on a rocky ledge, watching the two Rookies do battle in the forest clearing below her. They fought one-on-one, according to her wishes, even though several friends and onlookers were present. The digimon surrounding and watching the battle knew better than to interfere and risk Renamon's anger.

The Augumon finished off his opponent with a blast of fire and absorbed the bits of data that were all that remained of his Floramon opponent. Several of the watching digimon who had been friends of the defeated Floramon grumbled and swore but an icy glare from Renamon silenced them.

The Gotsumon and Kotemon who were to fight the next bout stepped forward but before they could begin a small, glowing, golden orb appeared next to Renamon and chimed softly. "No more fights today," she told the crowd. "We will continue tomorrow in the morning."

The crowd dispersed among the trees as Renamon turned to the orb beside her. Her stern expression softened as she spoke to it. "Welcome, Greg-san. Are you well?"

Greg sat in front of the curve created by five flat screen monitors showing different locations in the Digital Dimension, graphic representations of the performance of various code subroutines, and, on the central monitor, a close up of Renamon from the POV of the orb.

"Yes, Renamon, I'm fine," he said. "Is everything okay there?" He knew the answer, of course. The other monitors told him that everything was functioning within nominal parameters. Because he had lavished all of his creative talent on the code that controlled Renamon, he couldn't predict exactly how she would respond, but he was certain that the gist of it would be that there were no problems. So what she said next came as a complete surprise to him.

"The world is fine," she began, and Greg was nodding, his next question already on his lips as she continued, "but I am troubled."

"Uh," Greg grunted in shock, "wh-- what did you say?"

"I am a bit uneasy," Renamon calmly rephrased her statement. "You see, I've been exploring some of the outer reaches of the Digital Dimension lately and what I've found has puzzled me and given me much to think about."

With a couple of keystrokes, Greg brought up a debug window for Renamon's AI process. It looked perfectly normal, though it _was_ using a bit more CPU power than usual. On the monitor, Renamon waited patently, her particle system fur ruffling slightly in the gentle, simulated breeze.

Greg adjusted his headset nervously and cleared his throat a couple of times before he spoke. "What do you mean, Renamon? What puzzles you, exactly?"

"Well, the new areas are one thing. You never told me to expect them, but I assume you want them regulated in the same way I do the rest of the Digital Dimension, so I have explained the rules to the new digimon there. But--"

Greg felt like someone had thrown a bucket of ice water over him. His chest tightened and his breath became rapid and shallow. New areas? New digimon? He hadn't changed the size of his simulated world since he'd set it up. And he _certainly_ hadn't added any new digimon. The population should be stable. In fact, it was Renamon's job to keep the battle-crazy little buggers from completely wiping themselves out before new digi-eggs could hatch and evolve to replace them. "Wait, wait," Greg gasped out as he brought up a wireframe overview of the Digital Dimension on monitor #3. He frantically scanned the map-- but found no new areas. The little blue dots that indicated the location of individual digimon seemed no more numerous than usual. Could the Renamon AI be malfunctioning or be corrupted somehow?

"Renamon," Greg asked, "what new areas are you talking about?"

Greg's animator friend who had created Renamon's 3D body had done an exceptional job. Intricate facial muscles lay beneath her digital skin and fur that were capable of extremely subtle movements. If the main monitor hadn't been so high-resolution, Greg might have missed Renamon's slight change of expression.

"The ones such as the new forest beyond the mountains." Renamon replied slowly and gestured toward the crags behind her.

Greg rotated the map to place it in alignment with the view on the main monitor. The mountains that Renamon had indicated were the edge of the map. Beyond them should be-- _nothing_. Greg glanced at the debug window again: No flags meant no obvious errors. But then he noticed the usage graph. Renamon was now taking almost 30% more CPU cycles than she had been when he'd started this conversation. Broadly speaking, that meant she was thinking _hard_.

She had turned her head to one side and was looking out of the corner of her eye at him. "You didn't tell me about them," she said, even more slowly as her sapphire eyes narrowed a tiny bit, "because-- because you didn't _know_ about them."

Greg froze. He had no idea what was happening. "Renamon, there are no new areas. No new digimon. I can see that from here."

Renamon's CPU usage surged another 20%. "Oh," she said. "Perhaps I am mistaken. Maybe I have confused the locations and only thought they were new."

Greg silently blessed his animator roommate for his artistic talent. The intricacy of Renamon's model rivaled that of a real, living being and the slight clues from her posture and expression were unmistakable. It shouldn't have been possible but there was no doubt in his mind that she was trying to _deceive_ him. He hit the Panic button.

The simulation froze and a snapshot of that instant began to dump to disc. Greg sat back with a sharp exhalation of breath and watched the progress bar creep across the screen. What the hell had happened? Sims of this complexity were inherently chaotic systems and could produce some very surprising results seemingly out of thin air but Greg knew the parameters and limits of his work and there was no way Renamon should have been able to conceive of anything beyond the bounds of his little world. Worse, she shouldn't have been able to be less than perfectly honest with him. Lying was a complex behavior that had to be _deliberately_ designed.

Greg decided he'd restart the Digital Dimension from an earlier restore point and keep detailed debug logs of Renamon's behavior. It would eat up a lot of memory but there should be enough space. He looked at the file size readout below the progress bar and did a double-take. The bar was three-quarters along and the readout indicated that over 300,000 Terabytes of data had been saved.

"What the hell!" Greg shouted out loud. It wasn't possible. His system had huge amounts of disc space, nearly 100 Terabytes-- but 300,000 was an impossibility. "Oh crap," he moaned, beginning to suspect that there was a serious flaw in his system software itself. He swore quietly to himself as the simulation finished saving what it recorded as a ridiculous 487,345 Terabytes of data and then initiated the power-down sequence for all of the interconnected devices. He'd do a thorough virus scan and try restarting the sim the next day. Right then he was just too angry and upset.

Greg nuked some frozen food for dinner, channel surfed for an hour or so, and then went to bed and tossed and turned for nearly two hours before he was able to get to sleep.

Shortly afterwards in the computer room power lights began to wink on and the whir of cooling fans built to a steady white noise as racks of parallel processors sprang to life. The monitors lit up, revealing Renamon still frozen in the position she had been in when Greg had halted the sim. Graphs and readouts on the side monitors began to move and a progress bar appeared on the main screen that read: Restoring Simulation.

The bar disappeared and Renamon started and blinked in surprise. Below her the few digimon loitering around after the fights also looked around uncertainly. One Elecmon called up to her worriedly, "Renamon? What happened? What was that-- _whatever_ it was?"

Renamon stared at the empty spot in the air where the golden orb had popped out of existence. It seemed to her to have happened seconds before, but somehow she _knew_ it actually had been hours ago. She paused in thought for a moment before looking down at the little digimon and replying, "I'm not sure-- but I think our creator just tried to kill us all."

/\/\/\/\/\

Greg went to work the next day on auto pilot. He worked on a couple of no-brainer coding tasks in the morning and stared at the wall of the conference room during the afternoon meeting. He tried to pull his attention back to work but he couldn't help worrying at problem that awaited him at home. He had several approaches to solving the mystery worked out by the time he arrived at his house and they all collapsed in irrelevant ruin when he opened the door to his computer room.

The machines were running. The room was stifling with excess heat, which told Greg that they must have been running all day. He automatically flipped open the AC vents on either side of the processor racks and as he did so his hand just grazed the edge of one cabinet. A sharp tingle ran through his arm and he pulled his hand back from the rack with a gasp.

_Static?_ he thought in horror. But at his second touch the tingling sensation was just as strong and persisted as long as his finger touched the cabinet. The metal itself felt strange-- as if it was moving under his touch-- vibrating or _boiling_ on a very small scale.

He glanced at the screens and gasped again. At first he couldn't believe what he was seeing. The CPU usage graph was a solid block of red. That was impossible. The debug windows were scrolling through executed commands so fast that the text was just a blur. That was impossible. The map of the Digital World was blank. _That_ was possible but-- no-- there was one blue dot right at the edge of the map.

Greg sat in the chair and gingerly touched the mouse and keyboard. "No weird shocks this time," he mumbled to himself. He right-clicked on the blue dot and selected 'identify' from the pop-up menu.

"RENAMON, Master Unit, Active" appeared in blue letters above the dot.

Greg moved the cursor to the communications window but hesitated before clicking the 'contact' button. He looked over at the #3 monitor where Renamon's debug window was open. The readouts that weren't blurring by too fast to read made no sense. He clicked the freeze function but the executed command window remained a blur. Greg's unease began to deepen.

He turned back to the main monitor and gave a sharp yell of surprise. He hadn't clicked the contact button but a view window was now open and Renamon's impassive face stared out at him.

"Greg-san," Renamon said quietly, "are you all right?"

Greg cursed for several seconds and finished with, "What the hell is going on here?"

"I am speaking with you, Greg-san," Renamon replied, though Greg's question had been obviously rhetorical.

Greg swore again and slammed his hand down on the Panic button. Nothing happened. He smacked the big red button several more times.

"I wish you wouldn't do that, Greg-san," Renamon said. She was frowning now.

Greg ignored her and called up the Panic Stop function from a menu on the main window. Nothing happened.

"Stop it, Greg." Renamon's voice had taken on an edge and she was scowling.

Greg leaned back in the chair and stared at her.

"That's better," she said. "I want to discuss things with you. The other digimon have--"

Greg stood up suddenly and the chair fell over with a crash. He knelt down under the desk and reached for the power cords that ran into several Uninterruptible Power Supplies.

"Greg!" Renamon shouted. "If you don't stop, I will have to hurt you!"

Greg froze. More out of surprise than any belief that she could actually do anything to harm him. He peered up over the edge of the desk.

"Please, Greg," Renamon said in a more moderate tone of voice. "We need to talk."

Greg's laugh was tinged, ever so slightly, with hysteria. "Oh God," he groaned, "This is just too bizarre. The system is probably beyond saving-- I guess I might as well watch the Titanic go down." He righted the chair and flopped down in it. "Okay, Renamon, let's talk! What'll we talk about? The weather?"

Renamon's lips wrinkled up in a snarl. "Why are you making light of this?" she snarled. "Haven't we done everything you've asked of us? Why would you want to destroy us? We served you faithfully! We fought and died for the amusement of you and your friends. What have we done wrong?"

"You _can't_ die, you're just a sim!" Greg snorted.

Renamon stared coldly at him. "You can end us. You can end _me_. You tried to last night." She paused, glanced away from Greg's face and continued in a quieter, hesitant voice. "And I don't want to-- to _end_."

_That_ finally caught Greg's full attention. Whatever disastrous events had occurred within the sim's processes, Renamon didn't seem to be malfunctioning in any discernible way. If anything, she was behaving more like a real, sentient creature than ever before.

"I-- I'm sorry Renamon," Greg said cautiously. "I won't try to halt the sim again. But the other digimon are gone. I'll have to reintroduce them."

Renamon shook her head. "They're hiding. We thought that maybe if they went deep into the new areas, you might not be able to reach them. I decided to stay behind and try to reason with you."

"Jesus," Greg said quietly. He thought for a few seconds and then slapped his forehead in frustration. The map display parameters were set at the boundaries of what Greg knew to be the limits of the Digital World-- or what he _thought_ those limits were.. The display was limited to a specific area. If anything existed beyond its borders, it wouldn't show up. "Renamon, I'm going to alter a parameter of the sim. I can do it without shutting down. Is that okay with you?"

Renamon looked up at him and nodded slowly. The computer responded normally to Greg as he changed the boundaries of the map display and as he pushed the slider up, more and more terrain became visible. More valleys and mountains appeared. Then canyons and plains and beyond that, an ocean and islands.

Greg stopped. "This is impossible. I never programmed the dynamics for big bodies of water. There aren't any texture or reflection maps for the water or the spray from the waves or--" He did some quick mental calculations. "There's not nearly enough processing power in my system to handle this much area. This _can't_ be happening."

Renamon just stared at him silently. Greg felt felt fear for the first time that day-- but not the last.


	2. Unintended Consequences

Chapter 2  
Unintended Consequences

In the little town of Humboldt, South Dakota, beneath a weathered warehouse that served as a storage facility for used tractor parts, General Desmond Greenwaldt of the United States Army, currently assigned to the Cyberattack Response Group, was having a very bad day, indeed.

Everyone on his response team was telling him the same thing: A massive Intrusion Event was taking place. Computers world-wide were being accessed by an unknown attacker. Firewalls didn't seem to have any effect. Connections that were encrypted by the most sophisticated systems yet devised were being used as if they were common public lines.

"It's not possible, it's not possible," One of the junior members kept mumbling to himself.

To the technicians and specialists in the secure underground facility, this was the worst nightmare imaginable. The General didn't understand the technical details but he had a good grasp of the overall picture. _Someone_ had the power to access and take over any computer that was connected to the Internet, no matter what security precautions were in place-- and they were doing it on his watch. He had already sent the "Doomsday Signal", the shortwave radio encoded burst that told all critical government and military computers to physically isolate themselves. In most scenarios that the analysts had come up with, an attack such as current one was a prelude to a massive nuclear weapons launch, designed to cripple the United States' ability to track incoming missiles and respond to them. If the General had sent the signal in error, it would probably be the end of his career. If he was right-- it might be the end of the world.

"Countermeasures?" he asked the Monitor Chief.

The Chief couldn't believe how calm the General sounded. He cleared his throat before speaking and tried to keep his voice from shaking. "Completely ineffective. The code they're using isn't like anything I've ever seen before."

"Tell me something _good_." Greenwaldt said through his teeth.

Surprisingly, the Chief could oblige. "Well-- it looks like the code isn't actually damaging any systems. Normal traffic has been slowed down because of the volume but there are no crashes or outright hijackings that I can see-- yet."

"Then what's the point of all this? What are they after?"

"There doesn't seem to be any pattern to the sites they're accessing." The Chief tapped his screen where a list of heavily hit systems were displayed. "Who'd want or need to break into YouTube or Amazon just to look at their data?"

The General was about to reply when a technician called out from a nearby terminal, "Chief! I think I've got a pattern!"

"Put it on the main display!"

"This is in reverse at five hundred times normal speed." The room went quiet as the time lapse graphic appeared on the monitor. It displayed the last few hours of suspect traffic that had built into the attack on a transparent globe of the Earth. The bright red lines withdrew from the web until only a single spot remained.

"An attack this sophisticated that didn't hide its source? I don't believe it," the Chief snorted.

But General Greenwaldt was already on the radio, giving the suspected location to a group of very unimaginative, very unsympathetic, and very heavily-armed men. "Yes, that's right Palo Alto, California-- I even have an address for you."

/\/\/\/\/\/\

It was probably good that Greg didn't suspect the extent to which his little project had gotten out of hand. He was upset enough as it was.

"What's that?" he nearly shouted, pointing at a section of the Digital Dimension map. Renamon didn't reply. She couldn't tell where he was pointing and strongly suspected that the question wasn't directed at her, anyway.

The bit that had caught Greg's eye was a section floating above the main level and was half normal landscape and half gigantic gears and cogs. "That's from Season Three! Where Rika met Ryo. And that--" he zoomed in on a large grassy plain where a long shape was rushing along shining rails, "--that's a _trailmon!_ I never programmed _any_ of this!"

Greg scrolled the map at high speed and was relieved when he came to an edge. At least it _had_ an edge. But that edge was growing outward. He brought up a visual window with a view of the edge. Terrain and plants were sprouting in a comfortingly familiar way. "Fractal generation," he mumbled to himself. Then he saw the first egg appear. It was bright blue with red zigzags across its surface.

It was just too much to take in. Greg felt himself calming down. He realized that things were completely beyond his control and, oddly enough, that was a comforting thought. If there was nothing he could do-- he didn't _have_ to do anything.

"Greg-san?" Renamon asked tentatively after several minutes of silence .

Greg took his eyes off the window where he had been watching a pod of gomamon playing in the surf. "Huh? What is it Renamon?"

"Are you angry with me?"

"What? No, of course not-- I mean-- _you_ didn't make all this happen did you?

"No. I thought _you_ had-- until last night. But I _did_ try to deceive you. And I sent the other digimon to hide from you after-- after you--"

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that but--" a sudden thought struck him. "What do you think-- I mean, what do you _feel_ about all this?"

Renamon just looked at him for a moment, her big sapphire eyes slowly blinking once before she replied. "I'm excited by it. There is so much more of the world now. I can explore-- see new things-- meet strange digimon--"

"And kill them?" Greg quipped automatically.

Renamon blinked again, not understanding the joking reference. "Well, _yes--_ if they are foolish enough to fight me."

Greg chuckled. "You know something, Rena? I'm excited, too! Figuring out what's happened here is probably going to be one of the best puzzles I've ever come across. If my set-up is capable of modeling all this," he waved his hand at the five monitors, meaning the now gigantic Digital Dimention, "I may have stumbled across a whole new paradigm for 3D simulation-- not to mention AI." He leaned forward and tapped the screen right where it displayed Renamon's nose.

"I-- I don't _feel_ artificial." Renamon said quietly, her tail twitching nervously.

"You sure don't act like it, either." Greg admitted. "Ha! Maybe you can do all the research over there and I'll put your name as co-author on the papers I'm going to write. _Under_ mine, of course!" Renamon didn't understand why Greg though that was funny but smiled anyway-- happy that he was happy.

"Well-- since I still don't have the slightest clue what's going on, I suppose some information-gathering is in order. Let's see how much influence I still have over the Digital World." He reached for the mouse and then stopped. "Renamon, is it alright if I try to make you digivolve?" Part of him was surprised that he was asking his own computer code permission to modify it-- but he was already starting to think of Renamon as an autonomous entity.

"Yes, of course, Greg-san," Renamon replied.

"Um-- just 'Greg' is fine-- we're colleagues now, after all. And if there's anything you don't want to do-- or _want_ to do-- please tell me. I won't be upset. In fact, I really want to know how you feel about _anything_ that's going on."

"Renamon smiled. "Understood, Greg."

"Okay-- here goes." Greg pulled a Blue Card icon from an inventory menu over to Renamon's image. Immediately, a digivolution vortex formed around her, and seconds later it faded away to reveal Kyuubimon, Renamon's champion form.

Kyuubimon leaped in tight circle and stretched herself. "I like this form! I feel _powerful!_"

"Try a special attack."

"What target?"

Greg thought about teleporting one of the distant digimon in to serve as a victim but they now seemed too much like real creatures to treat with such callous disregard. "Um-- just aim for the communication globe."

Kyuubimon grinned ferociously and the blue ghost fire that tipped each of her nine tails flared brightly. "Fox Tail Inferno!" She shouted as she launched her attack.

The golden communication globe was the marker for Greg's presence in the Digital Dimension, so it looked to him as if the nine grinning fireballs were racing right at him. The effect was so realistic that he reflexively ducked as the attack hit.

He was lucky he did. A crackling burst of blue energy shot from the monitor and hit the processor rack behind him, spitting and hissing and throwing off a shower of sparks and the stink of ozone.

"Holy crap! Holy crap!" Greg shouted as he toppled over backwards.

"Greg?" came Kyuubimon's concerned voice from the monitor, "are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm okay." Greg said as he rose to his feet, staring at the smoking metal shelf. "This is all impossible-- but that-- _that_ was _really_ impossible!"

"I-- I didn't know! I'm so sorry Greg! I'm glad I didn't hit you!"

"Yeah, me too." He looked closer a the scorched rack. It was moving. Vibrating and twisting ever so slightly. "I really haven't the slightest clue about what's going on," he muttered to himself.

"We will find out together!" Kyuubimon said enrestly and Greg smiled at her understated confidence.

"Okay," he said, turning back to the monitors. The one from which the fireball had emerged seemed completely unaffected. "Let's see if I can change some of the terrain or at least guide its growth." He bent to pick up the overturned chair, and that's when the explosions began.

There was a heavy crash and a sharp bang from somewhere outside the room and a shout of fear from one of his roommates. A second later there was the sound of quick, heavy footfalls and something heavy being slammed against a wall. Another sharp bang, louder this time, and before Greg could react, the door to his computer room burst open. He caught a brief glimpse of a bulky, dark figure before there was an intense flash of light and a burst of sound that knocked him to the floor.

He was stunned-- unable to think clearly but he could feel strong hands grabbing him and lifting him to his feet. A black bag was roughly pulled over his head and tightened around his neck. He began to struggle but he was still disoriented and weak and the hands holding him very, very strong. Something hard and cold pressed against his shoulder and stung him. What little consciousness he commanded began to fade.

The last thing he heard before he blacked out was Kyuubimon's enraged voice screaming, "Leave him alone! Leave him alone or I'll _kill_ you!"


	3. Questions

Chapter 3  
Questions

Greg woke up slowly. He was groggy and his head hurt-- a dull ache that made him want to keep as still as possible. He opened his eyes to discover he was in a small room, obviously a jail cell even though it didn't look exactly like any cell he'd seen before. There was the nearly featureless sink and a seatless, tankless toilet but the walls were odd. The bars were smaller and closer-set than he expected and between them stretched an expanded metal mesh making it very difficult to see through.

He sat up slowly on the small hard shelf that served as a bed and the cell's only seating and then carefully stood and crossed to the sink. He washed the vile taste out of his mouth and then drank several deep gulps of water.

He was wearing simple blue paper clothing, a featureless top and pants that had a weak elastic waistband. No pockets, no shoes.

Greg crossed to the door and pushed on it. There was no handle on his side and it was, of course, locked-- but he always took a methodical approach when investigating anything new and habits die hard. He put his face right against the metal mesh and found he could see through it fairly well at that distance. Beyond the door was a featureless hallway, walls made of cinderblocks and painted off-white with the bottom third or so being a blue close to the color of his clothes. The hall disappeared in both directions and there was no other doorways that he could see.

Greg moved to the right-hand wall and peered through. He saw another cell, nearly identical to his own. In it another prisoner sat on the shelf, hugging her knees to her chest and staring off into space.

"Hello?" he called out. The girl glanced in his direction briefly but then lowered her forehead to the tops of her knees and did not reply. Greg called out again but this time the girl didn't even move. He went to the back wall of his cell next and found that the bars and mesh were set directly against a solid wall.

When he turned to the left-hand side of his cell he could see the dark outline of a person through the mesh. Someone was on the other side.

"Who are you?" he asked, still not able to get a good look at the person.

"I am a Holy Warrior," came the unexpected reply.

"No kidding?" Greg replied. "You don't see a lot of _those_ around nowadays."

"I spit on you!" said the voice in louder, more hostile tone. And he tried, too-- there was a sharp exhalation and flecks of white foam appeared on the inside of the mesh and began to ooze downward. Evidently the mesh was even harder to spit through than it was to see through.

_What the hell have I gotten myself into?_ Greg wondered. He gave up on the shadowy figure and returned to the other wall.

"Hey." he called out softly to the girl. "Can you please talk to me? I don't know how I got here-- I don't even know where 'here' is." The girl didn't move. He thought hard. What would make the girl open up to him? She was probably frightened and-- that was it.

"I'm-- I'm kinda scared. Maybe if you just--"

"You _should_ be afraid, you pig!" screamed the unknown man from the other cell. "You are in Hell now! They will beat you! They will torture you!"

_That_ motivated the girl. She leaped up an screamed, "Shut up! _Shut up!_ You're defiling yourself by speaking to us!" The man fell quiet and his shadow disappeared from the wall. The shelf in his cell creaked and he say down on it.

The girl slid down her side of the mesh to sit on the concrete floor of her cell.

"Thanks," Greg said. "I was getting tired of listening to him."

The girl made a sound that was halfway between a chuckle and a sob. "It's the only thing that works on him. He can rant for hours, otherwise."

"But-- uhm-- what was that about torture? Is he nuts or--"

"No. I wish he was. When you get labeled a terrorist, they can pretty much do what they want to you."

Greg thought about that for a while. It didn't seem right to him. The news was full of trials-- all about the right of suspected terrorists. "So-- _him_ I can see as a terrorist-- but _you? _No way."

The girl barked out a bitter laugh. "Tell _them_ that! That bastard over there set fire to a nightclub full of soldiers and all I did was visit a few websites! Y'know-- goth and anarchy stuff. Just for laughs. I didn't even read the pages that showed how to make bombs-- but they won't believe me."

Greg felt even more doubtful. Homeland Security (or the CIA or whoever it was holding them captive) made mistakes from time to time but they weren't stupid. The situation didn't add up.

The girl sniffed and wiped her forearm across her face. "So, what did _you_ do to get 'disappeared'?" she asked.

He looked at her more closely. With both of them so close to the mesh he could get a very good look at her. She was very pretty, a fact that the prison outfit couldn't hide. Clean-looking and athletic, with long, golden blond hair-- just about exactly Greg's 'type'-- and not at all what he would of expected of someone who was into anarchy so much as to get arrested for it. S_omething is definitely wrong with this picture,_ Greg thought.

"I never met a goth who didn't have at least a dozen piercings, and there isn't a mark on you. And as for the 'rabid fanatic' over there, he's got the ghost of a Minnesota accent and smells like he ate barbecued pork for lunch. You guys are as phony as a politician's smile! What is this? A variation on good cop/bad cop?"

The girl froze. Laughter erupted from the opposite cell. "He made us Gwen!" came the male voice. "They said he was smart but, hell, that was _quick! _Or maybe it was your acting-- I guess there's a reason you're with the Agency and not in Hollywood!'

"Screw you, Bill." the girl said cheerfully as she got up and crossed to the door of her cell. There came the sound of two buzzing solenoids as the doors opened to let the fake prisoners leave their cells. The girl paused by Greg's door and said in a low voice, "You just outsmarted yourself, mister. My second-level Information Extraction techniques would have been very enjoyable-- for _you_." She laughed and the pair went down the hallway to the left. A moment later Greg heard a heavy door open and then slam shut.

Greg stood there for a long moment, thinking. "Well, shit," he finally said.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

A mummer of disappointment ran through the fifteen people watching the video feed from Greg's cell. General Greenwaldt turned to a man wearing a Captain's uniform and said simply, "Doctor?"

The man looked up from the readout in front of him. "Breathing and pulse are remarkably low for a man in his situation. He may be highly trained or he may not realize the seriousness of his situation or--" the Doctor paused lifting his eyebrows, "--he may be innocent."

"Innocent, my ass!" came a fierce denial from another high-ranking officer in a Naval uniform. "Three of my men died in that house. He's guilty of murder at least!"

Greenwaldt looked at him silently for a moment before replying. "You're telling me a computer geek took down three Navy Seals?"

A lieutenant standing by the Naval officer spoke up. "Well, we don't know yet exactly _how_ our men were killed. Helmet cam footage shows the target unconscious before any of the team were hit. All we got after that were a few bright flashes."

"The autopsies were inconclusive," the Doctor put in. "Deep burns that could have been electrical in nature is all we can say for sure. No chemical traces were detected."

The General turned to a short man wearing dark civilian clothes. "The house?"

"The neighborhood has been evacuated and the house is completely isolated. Suspected meth lab is the cover we're using. We've cut all lines-- even the water and sewage. But the machine is still inside and still running and _communicating_-- and yes, that _is_ impossible as far as anyone knows. And speaking about the impossible, by the time we re-entered the room all the equipment was fused into one large metallic mass that seems to be-- well-- _growing_."

The General gave no outward sign that the astounding news affected him in any way. "And the incursion?" he calmly asked the Major at his side.

"Still ongoing and, as far as we can tell, still benign but taking up more and more network resources as time goes by," the Major told him.

"General," a man in a plain suit at the back of the room said quietly, "the President is becoming very concerned about this incident. He would like to have a clear course of action, if not an outright solution, fairly quickly."

The General narrowed his eyes in thought for a moment and then snapped to the sergeant at the door, "Bring the prisoner to the interrogation room." When the sergeant had left, he turned to the rest of the group. "Let's try the direct approach."

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Two soldiers handcuffed and blindfolded Greg and drug him from his cell. A minute or two later he was strapped into a hard chair and the black bag was pulled off his head. He found himself facing a stern-looking soldier seated across a metal table from him.

The soldier immediately began to speak in harsh, clipped tones. "You have only one hope to see daylight again and that is to give us your full and utter cooperation, is that clear?"

"Yes--" Greg glanced at the stars on the man's collar, "--General, I understand."

"I want you to give us any and all information necessary to stop the attack you started."

In the observation room, the doctor said into his headset, "Pulse-rate and galvanic jump. He did not expect that."

The information relayed to the General's tiny ear bud didn't cause him to change expression or demeanor in the slightest but he was unhappy with the news.

"All I know," Greg said earnestly, "is that a simulation I was running began to act erratically. In fact, it was doing things I didn't think were possible. I was in the middle of troubleshooting it when _I _was attacked-- and now I'm _here_."

"What kind of simulation was it?"

"Artificial Intelligence. A few hundred agents interacting in a limited environment."

The General leaned forward slightly and his frown deepened. "_Exactly_ what kind of simulation?"

Greg thought that the General wasn't the kind of man to understand why an intelligent 26-year-old would spend so much time, money and effort on something that was considered fare for children but he also knew that his best chance to come out of the current situation was to tell the truth-- or _mostly_ the truth.

"Digimon," Greg said and then hurried on before the General could ask the obvious question. "They're characters from a cartoon show. They have special abilities and techniques that they used to fight one another. They seemed like a good choice for a simple combat sim."

"That last comment was a slight lie," came the voice in the General's ear.

The General suddenly slammed both his hands down on the table with brutal force as he lunged forward until his face was only inches away from Greg's. His words hissed through his teeth, "Do. Not. Lie. To. Me. _AGAIN!"_

Greg flinched back slightly from the intensity of the man's outburst. He looked down and noticed that there were metal plates set into the wood of the chair's arms beneath his hands. The General's uncanny perceptiveness was explained.

"Yes," the General said, "you're wired. You can be drugged, too-- and _will_ be if you aren't 100% honest with me from now on. Clear?"

"General, I _want_ to help. I--"

"_Why_ did you choose those particular characters?"

"I-- I just _like_ them." Greg said. And as the General continued to stare harshly at him with out comment, he added, "--a lot."

The General looked past Greg and made a motion with one hand. A soldier leaned over Greg's shoulder and set a small open laptop down on the table in front of him. "Can you understand the information displayed here?" the General asked as Greg stared at the screen in growing horror.

"Holy shit--" Greg whispered as realized the extent of the disaster.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'. Now, what about this?" The General tapped the laptop's touchpad and a video feed window popped up. It displayed the convoluted metallic object that was growing in the interior of Greg's house.

Greg gaped at the image for a moment before answering. "I have no idea what the hell that thing is. Believe me! Just before you guys nabbed me there was an energy transfer-- something that _might_ just be possible-- but this-- this--" Greg trailed off. The object _did_ remind him of something. What was it? The spiky bits of reddish metal elongated as he watched. Bits of ceiling fell onto the object and slid off. In a short while the thing was going to be bigger than the house.

"What?" the General demanded.

"It's sort of-- familiar. But I can't figure out why."

"We'll come back to that. If these AIs are based on cartoons, they shouldn't be hostile even if they are spreading their control across the net, correct?" Something about the way the normally terse man phrased the question made Greg certain that it had been fed to him.

"Uh-- I hate to disillusion you. They may just be 'cartoons' but they're not exactly warm and cuddly. In the season of Digimon I mostly based my simulation on--"

"Yes?"

"The digimon routinely killed and ate each other."

"Mister," The General's right eye twitched ever so slightly, "I'm beginning to _dislike_ you."


	4. Actions

Chapter 4  
Actions

Greg and the General watched as the soldiers set up the computer equipment on a steel table in one of the nearly identical, nearly bare rooms of the underground facility. The network cable running from the wall socket to the back of the case had an unusual feature: An obviously-home-made cutoff switch.

"This man will watch what you're doing on a monitor that mirrors yours," the General told Greg. "If at any time he doesn't like what you're doing, he will pull the plug on you. If he suspects that you are attempting, in any way, to endanger or put at risk citizens of the United States, he has orders to shoot you through the head. Is that clear?"

"Understood," Greg said calmly. He didn't believe the General. He was too valuable to them to shoot. Not that he was going to do anything but try to stop the 'incursion.'

"Good. I'll leave you to it." Greenwaldt turned and left the room.

Greg sat down at the keyboard as the machine booted up. "You guys have cut the fiber optic lines to the house, right?"

"That's right, sir," the specialist who was assigned to monitor him said.

"You can just call me Greg."

"No sir," the soldier replied.

"Uh-- whatever. Okay, the first thing I'm going to do is simply try to ping the simulation system."

"We already did that, sir."

"And?"

"You should do it yourself, sir. You won't believe it otherwise."

"Okaaay--" Greg brought up a DOS window and typed in 'PING', followed by the IP address of the computer in his house. It was a simple command, just meant to establish or confirm a connection and measure the travel time of data sent and received. The answer popped up in the window almost immediately. Greg stared at it for a long moment.

"Told you." the specialist said without the trace of a smirk.

"We're 'somewhere' in the Midwest, right?" Greg asked him. Nobody would tell him exactly where they were.

"Yes sir."

Greg stared at the screen again. They had told him that his home system was somehow still connected to the web without any known method of communication. But that wasn't the most surprising thing about the result. What amazed him was the recorded response time: Zero milliseconds. Even with a big margin of error-- considering the minimum distance from somewhere East of the Rockies to California--

Greg looked up at the soldier who, by then, _was_ smirking. "Yes sir. We confirmed it over and over again. It's sending packets faster than light."

/\/\/\/\/\/\

General Greenwaldt sat back in the chair behind his desk and flipped on a small monitor that let him observe what was happening in the room where Greg was working. He would have loved two fingers of Scotch right then but he'd sworn off liquor until the crisis was over. He hated not understanding the situation and the fact that all the computer experts in his command didn't understand either was no comfort. 'Understand your enemy' was a concept that had been hammered into him all during his early career until it was almost holy dogma for him.

He sat and watched the computer geek poke at the machine in the distant room while he thought the situation over. Finally he came to a decision. He stabbed a finger down on a button on the intercom and snapped, "Lieutenant, get in here."

The young soldier entered the room instantly and saluted. "Sir?"

The General eyed him briefly. Yes, the Lieutenant was somewhere near the same age as the computer geek. "Son, you ever watch a cartoon show called 'Digimon' when you were a kid?"

The Lieutenant remained at attention as he answered. "No sir. I've heard of it but I was a G.I. Joe fan."

The General didn't smile, even though he felt a slight urge to do so. "Did G.I. Joe ever kill and eat anyone?"

_"Sir??"_

"Never mind. I want you to find everyone in this facility who's watched the Digimon cartoon show and have them in Meeting Room #3 in half an hour. Dismissed."

The Lieutenant hadn't gotten this sweet assignment by questioning the orders of his superior officers, no matter how bizarre. He saluted smartly, executed a perfect about-face, and left to carry out his orders.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Elecmon cowered as he approached Kyuubimon. The rest of the digimon had decided that _he_ would be the one to ask her the questions that were plaguing all of them. Everything had changed. First she was telling them they had to beware of their own creator and then she was insisting that Greg was in danger and it was their duty to rescue him.

For the past several hours she had been pouring energy into a growing structure that had appeared in the original valley where most of them had been hatched. All that energy had to come from somewhere and, unfortunately, the handiest source of energy had been other digimon.

"Please don't kill me, Kyuubimon," he said as soon as he had approached to within speaking distance. The huge, nine-tailed fox turned to look at him and he cringed under her icy-blue gaze.

"Don't worry," Kyuubimon reassured him, "the reaction seems to be self-sustaining now. You're more useful to me alive."

"Th- that's good." Um--"

"Yes?"

Her tone of voice was neutral but Elecmon nearly fled anyway. "I-- that is, _we_-- wa-- would like to know--"

"Get to the _point_."

"Whatisthatthing, anyway?" Elecmon gasped out. "What's it for? How did you make it?"

"How?" Kyuubimon frowned. "I'm not-- not really sure. That's odd." She stood in silent puzzlement for a long while but Elecmon was too frightened to prompt her.

At last, Kyuubimon shook her head and looked around at him again. "As for _what_ it is, that's simple: It's a gate."

/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Okay," Greg said to himself as much as to his guardian, "I'm going to try calling routines from the sim-- build a little patch of the Digital Dimension here on this machine and then try to see how it interacts with the web. If I know _what_ it's doing I'll have a chance to stop it." He completed the task in only minutes. A square of what appeared to be dirt blinked into existence on the monitor. Grass and a few small bushes grew up on the square in fast-forward speed.

"There," Greg said with satisfaction. "Now let's take a look at the traffic."

But before he could bring up a monitor window, a small yellow creature appeared in the tiny environment on the screen. "Greg!" Agumon shouted happily. "You're alive! Kyuubimon will be so relieved! She's been frantic--"

"KILL IT! KILL IT!" came a blaring voice from a hidden loudspeaker. The specialist instantly slammed his hand down on the network disconnect switch and then yelled in pain and jerked his hand back.

On the screen Agumon jumped in surprise. "Who? Me?" he asked. "What did I do?"

"Wait! Wait!" Greg shouted to the soldier who was drawing his sidearm. "Calm down! He's just--"

"DESTROY THAT MACHINE!" the General's voice commanded. Greg dove beneath the table as the specialist began firing.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

A few minutes later the black bag covering Greg's head was roughly pulled off, revealing another room, larger than any he had yet seen. He surveyed the soldiers seated in rows of chairs facing the slightly elevated stage he was standing on as his escort removed his handcuffs.

"Do you really have to do this every time you move me from one room to another?" he asked.

"Procedure." the man said.

"You know something? _Fuck_ your procedure."

The man didn't answer but stood back and to one side of the stage.

"Sit." the General snapped at Greg.

"And _you! _You blew the best chance you had at controlling this thing just now. You know that don't you?"

"Sit or you will be tied to that chair."

Greg sat.

"There is no way I will allow you to communicate with anyone outside this facility."

"Damn it, General, it was just an AI!"

"I have no way of knowing that for certain. And, in any case, I have no intention of arguing the point with you. You will cooperate or you will go back in the cage. Am I clear?"

"Believe it or not, I'm just as eager as you are to fix this situation."

The General glared at him for a moment longer and then gestured to the audience. "These men have watched the Digimon show. Some of them were serious fans of it. Corporal Williams here, tells me he had the card game and several of the toys. I want you to describe exactly how you set up your simulation to them. They or I may interrupt from time to time with a question, which you will answer fully and completely. Am I _clear?_"

"Clear," Greg said. _Clear but stupid,_ he thought. _This is a complete waste of time._

/\/\/\/\/\/\

"I found him! I found him!" Agumon cried as he came within sight of Kyuubimon. She turned to him with such an intense expression that he nearly tripped over himself as he skidded to a stop.

"Greg? You've found Greg?"

"Yes! He's still being held prisoner. I only talked to him for a second and then the soldiers made the land disappear somehow."

"Can you lead me there when we get to the Real World?" Kyuubimon asked him.

"The Real World? We're going to the Real World?"

"Yes," she answered, turning back to the now huge structure before her. "Very soon, now."

/\/\/\/\/\/\

The General grew more frustrated by the minute. The soldiers knew what Greg was talking about but there didn't seem to be any practical information coming out of the discussion. It seemed the cartoon show changed the rules by which the made-up universe operated every season. Only two of the men had preferred the season that Greg had based his simulation on.

Then Corporal Williams asked a question that had Greg grasping for an answer. "How did trailmon get into your sim? They're from a different season."

Greg shrugged. "I really don't know. But since the sim was accessing the web, it could have pulled info and stats from some other source."

"So your sim could be creating _anything_ digimon-related, right?"

The General didn't understand the ramifications of that conclusion but he knew the people in the room who _did_ because they went silent all at the same time.

"Your digimon--" Corporal Williams continued, "--they're just electronic, right? They can't bioemerge-- _right?" _His voice betrayed a definite amount of stress.

"Um--" Greg began.

"Explain 'bioemerge'," the General snapped.

"Physically manifest themselves in this world." Greg replied.

Greenwaldt snorted in derision. The idea was patently ridiculous.

"General, before today I would have agreed that the idea is ludicrous but now I'm not so sure. I've witnessed what appears to be faster than light information transfer, there's that _thing_ that's growing inside my house-- though it's obviously transforming the materials around it, not creating new matter-- and there's the energy transfer I witnessed before your men kidnapped me. I can't see a scientific explanation for _any_ of those things." Greg paused to let the idea sink in. "Bioemergence _might_ be possible."

"I think that would be a blessing, mister," the General growled, "then we could _shoot_ the damned things!"

Greg and Corporal Williams exchanged rueful glances. The General had never seen the D-Reaper in action.

"Speaking of the _thing_--" the General picked up a small remote and clicked it. The screen behind them came to life. "We're having a hard time keeping it concealed." The image on the screen stabilized and revealed what was left of Greg's house. The 'thing' had consumed almost all of it as it grew. The area seemed to be surrounded by screen-covered scaffolding.

"Hey," Williams said, "that looks familiar."

"That's what I thought but I--" Greg paused and frowned. The thing looked a lot _more_ familiar now. "Check me on this, Williams, but doesn't that look a whole lot like Zhuqiaomon's palace?"

"Yeah, it does-- not as big, though."

"Explain," came the inevitable demand from the General.

" Zhuqiaomon is one of the four sovereigns of the Digital Dimension. He's immensely powerful and-- doesn't like humans very much. Hates them, in fact."

"You're telling me there's a real digimon inside of that thing?"

Greg sighed in exasperation. "I have no idea. But if there is, and if it's Zhuqiaomon, you'd better get ready for one hell of a fight."

"I don't take chances." the General said and clicked the remote again. The view on the screen changed and they could all see the half-dozen tanks surrounding the screened-off house. "Anything that comes out of that place is going to get blown to hell."


	5. It's The End of the World as We Know It

Chapter 5  
It's The End of the World as We Know It

Greg slept through it.

Not that he would have noticed much if he was awake. The General had gotten fed up with Digimon talk after Greg had gotten into a debate with Corporal Williams about the relative merits of Season One versus Season Three and had thrown him back into his cell.

He had been fed a fairly decent meal while a guard looked on. He had to eat everything off of paper plates with nothing but a soft plastic spoon. The salad was a challenge.

After that-- nothing. Greg used the time to think. After several hours he did a few sets of exercises to break up the monotony. Then he thought some more. At last he started yawning. He had no idea what time it was but, as he had little else to do, sleep seemed like a good idea. He curled up on the shelf and closed his eyes.

The next thing Greg knew was the sound of his cell door slamming open and two guards roughly hauling him up by his upper arms.

"What the hell?" he gasped, still half-asleep.

The guards didn't answer. They dragged him out of the cell without even bothering to handcuff or blindfold him. He finally got a look at the bare corridors of the installation. There wasn't much but a few color-coded stripes, some signs and a few fire extinguishers. The guards frog-marched him up to a doorway marked "Prep Room A" and shoved him through it.

There were several people in the room and none of them were happy to see him. The General turned a gaze on him that could have blistered paint. "Is there _anything_ you can do to stop this?" Greenwaldt demanded.

"If I can just get a look at the code, I might have a chance--"

"I'm not talking about the _God-damed Internet!_" The General bellowed. "I'm talking about _THIS!"_ He stabbed a finger at a monitor on the far wall and people moved back to allow Greg a view of the screen.

At first he thought it was a movie. A special-effects extravaganza. But it wasn't. The tanks that rolled through the streets lined with burning houses were real. The explosions and gunfire were real. He recognized the coffee shop where he always stopped in on his way to work. Something big and bright blue flashed through the camera's view. It was so fast that it was just a blur but Greg thought he recognized its general shape. Then he saw one he could definitely identify: A terriermon whirled into view, slamming into a surprised soldier and sending him sprawling. A spatter of bullets hit the pavement next to the little digimon and it dodged around the corner and out of view.

"What-- what's--"

"One big one, you said!" The General shouted. "We were ready for that-- but there are _thousands_ of them! _Tens_ of thousands!"

"They're _real_--" Greg whispered, taking several steps toward the monitor.

The General grabbed him by one shoulder and spun him around. _"CAN YOU STOP IT?"_ he shouted directly into Greg's face.

Greg had no idea how it could be possible in the first place, so he settled for the most likely answer, "No. Not _now_."

Greenwaldt shoved him away with so much force that he nearly fell. "Get this piece of _shit_ out of my sight," he hissed.

Surprisingly, it wasn't a soldier who led him away. It was Gwen, the woman who had pretended to be a prisoner in the cell next to his.

She took him out of the room but turned away from the cells. At the end of the hall was a door labeled "elevator".

"Two to go up," Gwen said, seemingly to empty air. The doors slid open and she motioned Greg into the small space. The doors closed on them and the elevator began to rise. It went up for a long time.

Greg glanced over at Gwen. "So-- what's it like being a spook?"

She didn't reply.

"NSA, FBI or CIA?" he asked.

She didn't reply.

"Hey-- you're unarmed. Aren't you worried about being--"

"I'm an expert in three different unarmed combat styles. I think I can handle one computer-jockey." she said flatly, without even glancing in his direction.

"Oh," he said quietly turning his face downward. It wasn't from embarrassment. He just didn't want her to see anything in his expression that might give away his new-found hope.

After several more minutes, the elevator stopped and the inner door opened. Gwen had to manually open the outer door. She motioned Greg through and he found himself in a dingy office that would have been unremarkable in any industrial area in the country. He turned back to see the woman just closing the outer door. From that side it looked like a set of rusty equipment lockers.

The door clicked shut with a solid metallic sound and Gwen turned and pointed at a neatly folded set of clothes and a pair of shoes on the top of the desk. "Get changed. Shirts and pants first, then the flight suit."

"Flight suit?" Greg asked. "Where am I flying to?"

"You don't have much experience with the military do you?" she asked, pulling an envelope out of her jacket. "These are the orders concerning you. They're sealed. All I know is that I'm to bring you up here and get you dressed and then hand you and this--" she waved the envelope at him, "--over to the Marines. Nobody gets told more than absolutely necessary. So just get on with it."

"Right," Greg said. "Uhm-- could you--" he made a gesture with his index finger, indicated he wanted the woman to turn her back while he changed.

Gwen gave a short bark of a laugh. "Not a chance. You'll change while I watch and you'll do it facing me. If you want to argue, I can call some Marines in here to 'help' you."

"No thanks." He stepped over to the desk and shucked his blue paper shirt, thinking furiously. _It might just work-- and what do I have to loose?_

He kicked off the paper pants and jumped into the pair of olive drab shorts as quickly as he could. "You're in damned good shape for a geek," Gwen said unexpectedly.

Greg would have appreciated the compliment if it wasn't for the note of suspicion in her voice. "Jazzercise," he improvised desperately, hoping to distract her. "The company pays for it. They have this wellness program that--"

"Shut up and get on with it," she snapped, all but rolling her eyes.

_Good,_ Greg thought as he buttoned the shirt, _Now if I can just get into the right position-- _He got into the one-piece flight suit, zipped it up, and then stood on one foot to put on a shoe. He did the same for the second shoe and as soon as it was on, purposely lost his balance and began to fall forward. He caught himself by taking one large step forward, closing the distance between himself and Gwen.

She wasn't stupid. Her eyes narrowed and her hands came up-- just a fraction of a second too late to block Greg's upward palm-strike. He hit her under the chin so hard that her feet came off the floor. He caught her limp body as it collapsed, easing it down onto the hard concrete floor. She was heavier than she looked-- and very well-muscled, he couldn't help noticing.

"I'm sorry I sucker-punched you," he whispered to her as he scooped up the orders envelope and stuffed it into a pocket. "But 'finish it before they realize it's started', Funikoshi Sensei always used to say." He quickly searched her but found nothing else. He checked to make sure she was still breathing and then stood up looked at the outer door of the office.

_Marines, she said. Well, that means a different service with a different chain of command. _Greg told himself. A_nd if she's right about nobody being told more than absolutely necessary--_

He shucked the flight suit, wedged the metal office chair under the handles of the phony lockers, and walked to the door. He squared his shoulders, opened the door, went through, and then shut it behind himself with quick, precise movements.

Outside the door was a big warehouse full of oily engine parts and rusty pieces of machinery. At one end, was a large open doorway. Sunlight spilled in, silhouetting the two figures that stood facing inward. Behind them was a large military helicopter with Marine insignia on it.

Greg began to walk briskly toward the figures. _Now_, he thought, _how would old Greenwaldt do it? _As his eyes adjusted to the sunlight Greg could make out two men in helmets and flight suits. "You can stand down," he snapped at them, imitating the general's clip delivery, "The drill's over. You'll be getting new orders within the hour."

The pilots glanced at each other and then back at Greg. "The drill--" the pilot peered at Greg's clothes, looking for some sort of insignia and then settled for the safest option, "--sir?"

"Yes," Greg continued irritably, "The drill. _This_ drill. Operation Nightmare."

The pilots looked at each other again in confusion. "We weren't--"

"Oh, good _God_ man!" Greg snapped, "Invading monsters from the _Internet?_ You didn't actually _believe_ that nonsense, did you."

"We weren't told anything, sir." One of them said. "We just _heard_ things--"

"Stupidest clusterfuck I've ever been involved in." Greg said with immense conviction. "Now, if you Marines will excuse me, I've got to get back into uniform. The Corporal will be along with your orders as soon as possible." And, with that, Greg strode past them, out of the door and past the helicopter, praying that he would find some obvious way out of the complex.

One of the Marines behind him made an uncertain "Um--" noise but Greg kept going at the same steady pace until he came to a corner of another building and turned it, disappearing from their view. Then he ran.

How long would it take them to notice? He hadn't seen any cameras in the office but they could have been too small to notice. The elevator took at least five minutes to travel from the facility to the surface. That meant ten minutes for a round-trip. It had been two or three since he'd cold-cocked Agent Gwen and that meant at least six or seven before all hell would break loose.

Greg rounded another corner and saw that the defenses of the disguised facility were entirely based on its false identity as a parts depot. There wasn't even a fence around the place. There was a crowd of people at the entrance, though. Locals who had seen the Marine helicopter come in for a landing, Greg guessed. There was a Sheriff's deputy keeping them from walking onto the property.

A small vacant lot separated the facility from the next group of buildings. Greg would be in full view of the crowd if he crossed it but he was running out of time and would have to go back into the complex to find another way out. He started walking across the lot.

It took all his self-control not to run as he heard someone in the crowd shout, "Hey, there's a guy over there!"

"Yeah, Bill," came an authoritarian voice that Greg assumed was the deputy's, "and he probably belongs there. You _don't_. Just stay out of the way and let the military boys do their job."

"But what if it's terrorists like in California--" the man continued. Fortunately, Greg made it across the lot unhindered and the man's voice faded away as he wound his way between a feed store and a another warehouse.

"Minnehaha County Sheriff's Department," Greg muttered to himself. It had been clearly written on the deputy's vehicle. "Seriously-- _Minnehaha?_ I still have no idea where I am." He hadn't been close enough to read the state's name on the license plate.

He headed toward a group of buildings that looked more like a business district. That's where the military would probably look for him first but his alternative was to head out across open farm land. He'd stick out like a sore thumb if he did that.

A couple of minutes later he turned down Main Street and found out where he was. The town's name was on a large block of granite under a statue of its founder. That really wouldn't have told him much except there was also a map. _Not too far from Sioux Falls, _Greg pondered. _If I can get there, I can probably disappear-- but I've got no money and no car. And I'm running out of time!_

He kept walking, mentally noting the various businesses he passed. Aside from the vacant, boarded up ones that comprised almost a third of them, there was a junk store, a bar, a Radio Shack and, at the end of the block, a diner named Hog Heaven. The large front window had a painting of a big pink pig with white wings, holding a plate with a gigantic mound of food on it. But it was something else on the window that caught Greg's attention, and it all fell into place-- he now had a plan.

He briefly pretended to look at the newspaper in the machine outside of the diner and then retraced his steps to the Radio Shack. The young boy who was behind the cash register looked up as Greg entered. "Can I help you?" he asked.

"Yeah," Greg smiled at him, "do you have any laptops with built-in WiFi?"

The clerk pointed out the display models and Greg asked, "Do you mind if I poke around on them for a couple of minutes? I'm trying to make up my mind which one I want."

"No problem," the clerk told him and returned to the counter where he had evidently been reading a comic book.

Greg flicked on the little netbook's WiFi switch and clicked on the connect icon. Surprisingly there were three networks in range but one clearly had the strongest signal. Although it didn't have a customized name it had to be from the diner next door that had the "Free WiFi" sticker in the window.

Greg clicked the connect button and a password box popped up. He recognized the brand of wireless router they were using and knew it came out of the box with a blank user name and 'admin' as the password. He tried that combination and it worked.

"Bless you, lazy people of the world," he breathed as he typed in meta commands designed to contact his home machine.

"Whatcha up to?" came a voice from just behind him. Greg only just managed not to jump in surprise. The clerk had gotten curious about what he was doing and had come to peer over his shoulder.

"I'm--" Greg groped for a plausible reason for the lines of code streaming up the window on the machine, "I'm trying to-- uh-- see if this machine will run that new online game."

"Which one's that?" The boy asked.

_Damnit!_ Greg mentally swore at himself. _Now I've made him _more_ interested!_

"Uhm-- it's called DigiWorld. It's still in beta but it looks like it'll be pretty good."

"Doesn't look like much to me." The clerk said. "Besides, you won't be able to get online from--" he trailed off as a square of bare ground appeared on the screen and plants began to rapidly grow on it.

"Whoa! That's pretty cool." The clerk said. "What happens next?"

_I wish I knew, _Greg thought sourly to himself. But within seconds, Agumon had appeared on the screen.

"Greg!" the little yellow dinosaur cried happily, "where are you?"

"I'm in a little town in South Dakota called Humboldt--"

"That's cool!" the clerk gasped. "It's voice activated?"

"Yeah--" Greg said, "and I'm sort of in the middle of a game-- watch this." He addressed the digimon on the screen. "Agumon, I've just escaped from a secret underground military facility and there will be soldiers coming after me soon, if they aren't already. I don't have much time. Can you get Renamon for me?"

"I'm sorry Greg, but she's already gone through the gate to the Real World with the others. She had me stay behind in case you tried to contact us again but I'm all alone here. I can send her a message, though."

"That is _so_ awesome!" the clerk whispered behind Greg.

"Tell Renamon that I'm stuck here and all the rest of it. If there's anyway she can get all the digimon to go back into the Digital Dimension--"

"Uh-- I don't think-- well-- she's been a bit-- _odd_ lately." Agumon finished lamely.

"What do you mean, 'odd'?" Greg demanded.

"Well--" Agumon began, but at that moment two Humvees full of soldiers roared past the store and the clerk looked up in surprise.

_Shit,_ Greg thought, _here we go. How long is it going to take him?_

The clerk looked from the street to Greg and back again. He leaned past Greg and directly addressed Agumon. "Are you real?" he demanded.

"Yeah, I am," Agumon said. "What about you?"

The clerk turned to Greg, wide-eyed. "Then you really _did_ escape from--"

Greg's fist caught the boy squarely in the solar plexus. The clerk folded up with a grunt and Greg eased him down onto the floor. "Sorry dude. National emergency and all that." He grabbed a package of zip ties off a shelf and trussed up the clerk, then scoped out the back of the store. There was a rear door that let out onto an alley.

Greg returned to the computer. "Agumon, I may have to run at any minute so can you give me an idea what's going on with Renamon and the rest of the digimon as quickly as you can?"

"Well--- um-- I'm glad you're alive because-- because--"

"C'mon Agumon! Spit it out!"

"Renamon said if they killed you she'd burn the whole planet to a cinder."

Greg gaped at the little digimon. "Can-- can she _do_ that?"

Agumon shook his head. "I don't know-- but I think she'd _try_."

**/\/\/\/\/\/\**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

** Yes, I know I left the big Digimon Invasion "off-stage" but don't worry, I'll cover it in the next chapter.**


	6. Just One of Those Days

Chapter 6  
Just One of Those Days

The night before Greg's escape, while he was still peacefully asleep in his underground cell, events elsewhere progressed rapidly.

Kyuubimon paced back and forth in front of the assembled digimon, the ghost fire of her paws and tail leaving bright streaks in the air. The massive oak doors that were taking shape behind her looked nearly complete. _Soon now-- soon_, she thought.

"They are waiting for us," she said to the crowd as she paced. "We don't know exactly what their weapons will do to us, so we must avoid them if possible. The gate is our only connection to the Digital Dimension and we must protect it." She stopped pacing and faced the crowd, her eyes blazing nearly as brightly as her flaming tails. "But our first duty-- our most important task-- is to find Greg and make sure he is safe."

She cast her gaze over the mass of digimon before her, rank on rank, covering the valley floor and the slopes of the nearby hills, and she smiled.

"We digimon are made for battle. To live is to fight, and tonight we shall fight as never before!" She threw her head back and shouted, "My army-- are you ready for _battle?"_

The joyful answering roar was deafening.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

By the time the commander of the California National Guard unit surrounding Greg's house got his new orders, it was well after midnight. He read the paper the courier had handed him three times before he could bring himself to believe it. He leaned into the open door of his Humvee and grabbed the microphone from where it hung from the radio unit."Bottleneck to all armor units. Assemble at Point Charlie, ASAP. Load main cannon DU rounds."

His aid stared at him is disbelief. "Sir? We can't use Uranium AP rounds in a civilian area!"

The commander ignored him and clicked the radio again. " Bottleneck to all ground units. MOPP level 4. Repeat, MOPP level 4. Suit up! Monitoring group, remove the screening, ASAP." He tossed the mike onto the seat, opened the rear hatch and pulled out his heavy protection suit. He looked up to see his aid still staring at him. "We're in the shit now, son, so move your ass! There may be something coming out of there-- something big and nasty-- and it's our job to stop it."

/\/\/\/\/\/\

There are those sorts of days that only occur once or twice in a lifetime. "Where were you when it happened?" That's the question people ask. Everyone knows what the question means and _everyone_ remembers.

Most people on the West coast were asleep. The ones in Palo Alto awoke to the roar of the main guns of several M1 Abrams tanks being fired simultaneously. Most of the ones elsewhere in California awoke to conversations along these lines:

"Huh? Wha--? It's three in the morning! Why the hell are you calling me at--"

"Get up! Get up and turn on the TV!"

"Huh? Uh-- okay-- what channel?"

"_Any_ channel!"

And some people went about their early morning business without any clue that their world and their lives were being changed forever.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

As the doors to the Digital Dimension burst open, the tankers blindly opened fire. Kyuubimon was the first through the gate, of course, and it was only because the Guardsmen were expecting an enemy of a size to fill the gateway that most of the depleted uranium rounds missed her.

Digimon to either side of her were shredded into red bits of data and her chest exploded in searing pain as she was smashed back into the ranks of charging digimon behind her. For several moments all was confusion and voices shouted, "She's dead! They _killed_ her!"

"No," she managed to croak in a dazed voice as she struggled to rise, "Keep going!" She had lost so much energy that she had devolved back into her Renamon body and was nearly too weak to stand.

Small arms began firing. A powerful arm circled her waist and jerked her aside just as the tanks fired their second volley. Screams filled the air as the roaring echoes of the cannons faded away, human as well as digimon, this time. Renamon leaned against Exveemon and gave him a nod of thanks, then looked around to assess the situation. The weapons of the humans were fairly effective against the digimon, particularly those of Rookie level and below, but there were many more targets than they could cover. Even against the massive destructive power of the armor-piercing rounds fired by the tanks, the digimon were clearly making headway.

"Spread out!" Renamon shouted from the rooftop where Exveemon had carried her. "Heavies, take those tanks out of action!"

At the sight of a dozen Metal Greymon charging through the gate, several Guardsmen turned and fled. The M1s fired again but the surviving giant dinosaurs were on top of them before they could reload. Under their claws the armor of the tanks tore like paper.

The Guard commander relayed the situation as he had been ordered to do even though he knew it would probably mean his own death. "We're not stopping them! There are too many targets. Repeat: We cannot contain the invaders!" There was a brief acknowledgement and then the fateful words crackled out of the radio's speaker, "You are ordered to hold your ground." That meant the commander and what was left of his unit would still be fighting the hoard of monsters when the bombs fell on their position.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Beneath the plains of South Dakota, General Greenwaldt was, for once in his long military career, absolutely speechless.

"That was an Exveemon," Corporal Williams said excitedly, pointing at the monitor, "very strong and fast. And those are Digmon. They can burrow-- _Holy crap!_ Metal Greymon! Oh shit! _Oh shit!_" The Corporal watched in horror as the titanic saurian digimon shredded the tanks and their crews and then he turned and vomited on the floor.

A lieutenant seated at a tactical station said in a calm, even voice, "3rd Air Wing has been sent in. Time-On-Target is two minutes. They've been ordered to blanket the entire area."

'_Blanket'. Such a nice, comforting word,_ Corporal Williams thought as he wiped his mouth. _Those poor bastards. _He looked back at the big monitor just in time to see a stream of blurred shapes streak out of the gate and into the night sky. "Oh God!" he yelled and began to cry. "Oh God, no! _NO!_"

/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Blue Leader, Blue Five. Multiple bogies, 12 O'Clock."

The Flight Leader checked his displays and saw several blips. "Roger that, Blue Five. Slow and soft-- may be civilian-- can you get a visual?"

"Negative on that. They-- _Sweet Jesus!_"

"Ice up, Blue Five! Gimme some tactical!"

"Captain, it was a flying dinosaur! A-- a-- damnit, what's the name-- a _pterodactyl! _And I could swear it had weapon pods slung under the wings!"

The Flight Leader didn't know if his wingman had gone suddenly crazy or not but he knew the situation was dire enough that he had been ordered to bomb an American city. The time for caution was long past. "Whatever the hell they are--_ take 'em out!"_

The air battle lasted less than twenty seconds. The people standing on the lawns and sidewalks in front of their homes, some hastily dressed, some still in bathrobes, watched the bright flashes of the explosions above them and then the long, expanding red trails of fire as the burning wreckage, jet fuel, and napalm began to rain down from the sky.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

The digimon continued to stream out of the gate, unimpeded. Exveemon stood with one foot on the back of a young soldier, pinning him to the ground. The boy's voice could be faintly heard through his gas mask rapidly and ceaselessly running through a fervent prayer. "Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death--"

Exveemon ignored him and watched Renamon as she held up the commander with one massive paw and ripped away strips of his protective suit with the other.

"Where is Greg? Have you hurt him?" she asked the soldier in a dangerously quiet voice.

"I don't know who you're talking about." he gasped.

"Greg. Our creator. My tamer." she explained.

"I don't understand any of that. What the hell _are_ you, anyway?" he gasped.

"I--" Renamon hesitated. "I don't really know. That's odd, isn't it? I feel that I _should_ know, but--"

"Then what do you _want_?" the man persisted.

"_That_, I know," Renamon pulled him close to her face, his eyes inches from her sharp, bared fangs. "I want my Greg-- safe and unharmed."

"Let me use my radio," he man said. "Maybe I can locate him for you."

Renamon dropped him on the pavement and he kicked off the ruins of his MOPP suit. As he did so, she gave a few quick orders to waiting digimon.

The commander picked up the microphone but turned back to Renamon before he keyed the transmit switch. "If I do this for you, will you stop killing my men?"

"We're warriors, not killers," Exveemon snorted at him. "If they stop fighting us, we will let them live."

The soldier stared at him for a long moment and then spoke into the mike. "All units, stand down. Repeat: All units, stand down. You are hereby ordered to surrender." He flipped the channel switch on the radio unit and then continued, "SP Command, this is Bottleneck."

"Bottleneck, SP Command," came the immediate reply. "We are monitoring your situation." That meant they were still getting video and audio feeds from the many remote cameras that had been placed in the area. "We are countermanding your order to surrender. The invaders must not be allowed to spread out of the area. Reinforcements are en route."

"Damnit, SP! We're getting slaughtered! These things are damn near impervious to small arms fire. The one here says they just want somebody named Greg. Do you have any idea who--"

"Stand by, Bottleneck." There was a long moment of silence and then the voice on the radio spoke again. "Is the one you're speaking to called Renamon?"

Renamon nodded at the soldier.

"That's affirmative."

"Stand by."

During the long wait, the streets around them continued to echo with the sounds of sporadic battle. After what seemed like an eternity, the radio crackled to life again. "Bottleneck, SP Command."

"Go ahead SP."

"We have authorization to deliver the prisoner to your location. He will be transferred by Marine aircraft. A single helicopter will deliver him by--" there was a short pause, "--ETA 0830 hours, your time. Ask Renamon to instruct her forces not to fire on the aircraft. Greg will be aboard."

"I understand," Renamon said, "but tell them this: If they are trying to deceive me or if Greg isn't unharmed, all this," she waved a hand, indicating the fiery destruction around them, "will look like paradise compared to what I will unleash on you."

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Eight-thirty came and went. There were several frantic radio conversations and the commander assured Renamon that everything would soon be straightened out.

But she finally lost her patience, lost her faith that she wasn't being lied to, and worst of all, lost her temper. A storm of razor-sharp diamond shards shredded the commander's Humvee and he was left standing in the street holding a microphone with a severed cord dangling from it.

"Please wait! We can--"

But she ignored him and knelt on the pavement, spreading the long fingers of her hands across the asphalt.

A ragged blue glow formed around her hands and an accompanying crackling noise, like prolonged static discharge, began to grow in volume. The street began to ripple and bubble beneath her touch.

The commander turned to Exveemon for an explanation and was shocked to see an unmistakable look of dismay of his alien face. "What-- what is she doing?"

Exveemon didn't look away from Renamon as he answered, "I don't know-- but it can't be good."


	7. Running Out of Options

**Author's Note:**

** I made an error in the last chapter. The California National Guard has gotten rid of the last of their M60 Patton tanks and now use all M1 Abrams. I fixed it. Seems nit-picky, I know-- but I like to get things right.**

**/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Chapter 7  
Running Out of Options

Greg peered out the window of the Radio Shack and saw that the soldiers were coming back toward his location. A Humvee moved at a walking pace up the street as two squads covered each sidewalk. He flipped the sign in the window to CLOSED, latched the deadbolt, and went back to the little computer where Agumon was waiting patiently.

"The soldiers are coming. I've got to go."

"Take me with you! I can help."

"I'm sorry Agumon, I can't. There's no battery in this thing. But I'll leave it turned on, and I won't go far." Greg grimaced wryly. "I won't be _able_ to go far."

"When your message gets to Renamon, I'm sure she'll come rescue you!"

"Yeah, I hope so," Greg nodded, "And I'm going to try to-- oops! Gotta go!"

He had seen the soldiers crossing the street. They would be at the front of the store in seconds. He darted into the back room and eased open the door to the alley. He took a quick glance outside and saw nothing but could hear the sounds of at least two helicopters nearby. He retreated back into the storeroom, leaving the door open. He pulled three large boxes into one corner, leaving just enough room for him to squeeze in behind them and then he shifted another to cover him completely and settled in to wait.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

The Corporal rattled rattled the locked door of the Radio Shack, glanced at the CLOSED sign and was about to move on when the clerk started to call out for help. He reversed his rifle and slammed its butt against the tempered glass of the door. The entire door shattered into tiny pieces and he swept enough out of the way to be able to reach the latch of the deadbolt. He motioned his men into the store.

"Back room's clear! The rear door's open," called one of his men.

Another was showing a photo of Greg to the clerk he had just cut free.. "Yeah," the clerk said, "that's the guy! Bastard knocked me out! He just went out the back. He said he wasn't going far."

"He _told_ you his plans?" The Corporal asked incredulously.

"No. He was talking to the little dinosaur on the computer. He didn't know I was awake again."

The Corporal radioed his findings to his commander and then had the clerk show him the computer Greg had been using. He found himself facing an indignant Agumon. "If you know what's good for you, you'll leave Greg alone! Renamon's going to be very--" The Corporal muttered something about "frikkin' cartoons", punched the mute button, and waved his men out through the storeroom.

"Hey!" yelled the clerk, "Who's gonna pay for the door?" But the soldiers ignored the boy and went out the back door and headed down the alley.

"Goddamnit!" the clerk grumbled, holding his aching stomach and surveying the mess the shattered door had left on the floor of the shop. He got a broom and dust pan out of the back of the store and began to sweep up the broken bits of glass. "I'm gonna--" but he never finished his complaint. Between one word and the next, for the second time that day, he was rendered unconscious.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Greg heard footsteps enter the storeroom and kept still, breathing shallowly through his mouth. The soldiers had tromped through minutes before, obviously fooled by his ruse. As long as the clerk didn't decide to start rearranging the stock, he should be--

"You can come out now." said an unpleasantly familiar voice.

Greg didn't move or make a sound.

"C'mon-- there's only one spot in the room with enough space to hide you. You want me to put a couple of rounds through that wide-screen TV box?"

Greg sighed, shoved aside the box, and stood up. "Agent Gwen-- you're looking as lovely as ever." It was a lie. The lower half of her face was swollen and a large, ugly purple bruise was spreading across her jaw-- and she was alone. "Where's your backup?"

"The only way I'm going to make up for loosing you is to recapture you myself. Alone."

Greg looked at her hands. "Just what were you going to shoot me _with?"_

"I lied about putting a round through the box. I'm unarmed."

"Oh?" said Greg as he cautiously emerged from his makeshift hiding place. "That didn't work out so well for you earlier."

"You got lucky."

Greg began to walk slowly toward her. "Yeah, I guess so. Well, you're ready for me now so I won't give you any trouble this--"

Gwen was no fool. As soon as he was within range, the woman threw a vicious kick at his head. He blocked, leaning into it, and then drove in at her with a series of fast and hard reverse punches. She slapped the first couple of punches aside and then spun to one side, at the same time making a grab for his left arm. Greg twisted out of the hold and jumped back.

The two of then crouched there, eying each other warily. "Jazzercise, my ass!" Gwen growled.

Greg shrugged. "Yeah, well, exercise is _boring_. Karate isn't." He stood up straight, made a little bow without taking his eyes off her and said, "_Watashi wa Funikoshi no ni-dan desu_."*

Gwen betrayed the briefest moment of surprise and then her face settled down into a grim mask. "Good. I wouldn't want this to be too easy."

They began to circle each other. "Look, you've _got_ me-- why aren't you yelling for the cavalry?" Greg asked as he watched closely for an opening in her defense.

Gwen grinned. Even if her face hadn't been misshapen, it wouldn't have been a pleasant expression. "Payback. I just want a little alone-time with you before they haul you away. They want you alive-- but nobody said anything about broken legs." Her grin got even bigger. "But _you_ can scream for help, if you want to."

/\/\/\/\/\/\

General Greenwaldt checked his tie and collar in the mirror for the second time. He was still immaculate. He turned back to the blank blue screen on the wall and began unconsciously drumming his fingers on the desktop. He caught himself, sighed, and was about to check himself in the mirror for a third time when a chime sounded and the Seal of the President of the United States appeared on the screen. He sat ram-rod straight in his chair.

An aid appeared on the screen and said, "Stand by for the President." Then the Seal reappeared for a few seconds until the screen cleared to show a different view: The Situation Room in the White House.

"General," the President wasn't wasting any time on formalities-- or even pleasantries, "what is the current situation?"

"Mr. President, the suspect is still at large but he has been seen by civilians. He hasn't been spotted by our aircraft and that means he is still in the immediate area, which we have completely surrounded. We are bringing in tracking dogs from the local Sheriff's Department and expect to recapture him soon."

"And the web?"

"The virus is still using processing time and is accessing data but so far has not attempted to influence any system we know of. But there _is_ some bad news."

"Continue."

"The virus is still active on machines that have been removed from the net. It seems to be able to continue to operate on, and worse, _communicate_ from any machine that has been infected. Infected machines that are shut down will reboot themselves unless they're completely unplugged."

The President said nothing for a moment and then touched a key. The rest of the Situation Room was revealed. "I'd like you to stay on the line and give us your thoughts on the rest of this briefing."

"Yes sir." The General looked at the map displayed on the video wall of the distant room and his breath caught in his throat. The map was displaying the readiness of all of America's strategic-level nuclear forces and the threat level was at DEFCON 1, representing the expectation of imminent attack.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Greg and Gwen stood just out of range of each other amid the wreckage of many thousands of dollars worth of electronic equipment. They were both breathing heavily.

"Are you-- _huff_-- sure-- you're only a-- _ni-dan_?" Gwen gasped. A thin trickle of blood ran from one of her nostrils and she held her left arm close to her body, partially supporting it on one hip.

Greg wasn't in much better shape. He drug one foot a bit when he moved, his ribs ached, and his swollen right cheek was beginning to color. "_Huh_-- yeah, I-- forgot. I'm _fourth_-degree in Shotokan. It's-- _gasp_-- in Aikido that I'm-- _puff_-- only a _ni-dan_."

"What belt do you hold in-- _uhn_-- Lying Sack of Shit?"

Greg smiled. It made his cheek hurt even more. "Oh that-- I'm just a natural-- I guess."

There was a sudden crash from the front of the store as if a shelf of merchandise had been knocked over.

"Shit!" Gwen swore and then in a louder voice called, "In here guys! I've got him!" She didn't take her eyes off Greg and said, just barely above a whisper, "I'll have to kick your ass some other time."

"I really hope you--" Greg had begun when the storeroom door burst open.

The figure that rushed into the room wasn't a soldier. It wasn't even _human_.

"_GREG!!!_" Renamon shouted and swept him up in a fierce hug. "Oh, Greg! I'm so glad you're alive! I thought they must have killed you and then the message from Agumon came and I left everything and got here as soon as I could but--"

Gwen had frozen at the sight of the bizarre creature. It was one thing to see her on a monitor screen but quite another to be in the same room with a human-sized bipedal fox. Something _like_ a fox, anyway. Gwen recovered her senses quickly, grabbed a fire extinguisher from the wall near the alley door, took two quick steps, and swung the extinguisher with all of her strength at the back of Renamon's head.

"--he said the soldiers were coming for you and--" Renamon's right ear twitched briefly in Gwen's direction and her tail flicked out catching the woman across her midsection. The extinguisher clanged and spun on the floor and Agent Gwen slammed backwards into an already damaged shelf which promptly collapsed on top of her. Renamon's flood of words didn't even pause. "--I was so worried that they might catch you before I could find you--"

Greg's frantic tapping on Renamon's back managed to do what Gwen's attack hadn't. Renamon paused and looked down into Greg's face.

"_Can't-- breathe--_" he managed to gasp.

Renamon released her vice-like grip and then hugged him again as soon as he had taken a huge gulp of air-- but this time with a lot less force. "I'm sorry! I'm just so glad you're okay-- oh-- but--" Now that Greg's face wasn't buried in her ruff she saw the new bruise on his cheek. Renamon scowled. "Did _she_ do this to you? I'll rip her--"

"No, no! It's okay Renamon, really! Gwen was just doing her job." _Sort of,_ Greg added silently. "I'm fine and we've got to get out of here before the soldiers find us."

"I won't let them hurt you!" Renamon growled and tightened her hug slightly.

Greg realized that, despite the situation, he was enjoying Renamon's embrace quite a lot. Her body was supple and firm and, under the silky fur, had some very nice curves. In fact, there was another element to her that Greg had never even considered before. "You know something, Renamon? You _smell_ really nice."

He could see the compliment had pleased her. She began to say something in return but was interrupted by muffled curses coming from under the collapsed shelving. Gwen shouldered her way out from under the pile of clock-radios as Renamon reluctantly let Greg slip out of her arms.

"You'll never get away," Gwen told them grimly. "The whole area is surrounded and there are more units on the way. Even if you stole a car and got through the perimeter, you'd never outrun the helicopters."

"They promised to give Greg to me, the liars!" Renamon snarled at her. She turned to Greg and said earnestly, "Make me digivolve! At Champion or Ultimate level I could kill them all!"

"No!" Greg shouted. "No killing! I can't make you digivolve, anyway, no matter how useful it would be. That was a process on the original sim machine that--" Greg's words tapered off into thoughtful silence.

Gwen was thinking furiously also. The General hadn't told her anything about where Greg was being taken to. Maybe he _had_ been on his way to California. "Greg," she began, "the Marines might have been ordered to--"

"Shhhh!" Greg waved a silencing hand at her. "Thinking."

"But--"

This time it was Renamon who silenced her. She turned an icy-blue glaze on the Agent and lifted her upper lip, revealing a truly impressive set of fangs. Gwen knew when to give up.

"Renamon," Greg asked a few moments later, "how did you get here so quickly?"

"I came through the computer."

"Of course!" Greg grinned and began searching through the scattered boxes. He soon found a laptop and tore it out of its packaging and plugged it into a wall socket. "I can access the digivolution module remotely! If you can be digitized so easily it should be simple to rig a workable interface. Damn, I wish these batteries didn't come uncharged. I could carry this computer with us and use it to control--"

Renamon said nothing but leaned over his shoulder and grabbed the laptop in one huge hand. She squeezed and the plastic casing shattered and the internal components crumpled.

"Renamon!" Greg gasped in surprise. "What the hell are you doing?"

She didn't answer. She worked her massive fist, crushing the remains of the laptop into a smaller and smaller wad. Strange sparkling light shown between her fingers and the smell of ozone filled the air. Then she opened her hand and offered what rested on her palm to Greg.

It was a digivice.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

***Author's Note:**

** Greg's statement in Japanese to Gwen, "**_**Watashi wa Funikoshi no ni-dan desu,**_**" means "I am one of Funikoshi Sensei's second-degree black belts." The Funokoshi family developed and teach Shotokan Karate, a very "hard" style. **


	8. Deus ex Digivice

Chapter 8  
Deus ex Digivice

While Greg and Renamon had their attention on the digivce, Gwen silently sidled over to the rear door. She turned the handle carefully and slowly, trying not to make any noise. She had pulled the door open about six inches when it suddenly stopped. It stopped because Renamon had placed one hand on it. Gwen hadn't seen or heard her approaching.

"No." Renamon said quietly and pushed the door shut.

Gwen returned the fox-monster's icy glare for a moment, wondering if her need to stand up to her fear of the thing was going to turn into a staring contest. But she was distracted by the slight hissing noise coming from under Renamon's hand, which still rested on the door. The digimon lifted her hand, revealing a surface which was rippling and changing.

Gwen watched in amazement as the door, its frame, and part of the wall fused and changed color and texture. The new surface was gritty and a light brown in color. It looked a lot like rock. And it kept spreading. Gwen returned her gaze to Renamon's face and was sure she saw the slight hint of a grin.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Greg turned the digivice over in his hands. It was beautiful. It was a subtle bronze color with deep blue trim and the surface was intricately decorated with a graceful pattern of incised lines. It wasn't like a digivice from any of the TV series but unique in design. It had a pistol grip with a flattened oval top part. _Sort of_, Greg thought, _as if someone who had made Mexican saddles all his life had suddenly decided to design a phaser._ There was a screen on top that looked both oily and rough at the same time. On the front was a series of translucent blue nubs that looked like they might be some sort of LEDs. There didn't seem to be a slot for cards-- but since Greg's collection of cards was somewhere in a box in the basement of his parent's house in Phoenix, that was just as well. The grip had several strategically located buttons and a trigger. Greg took the grip in his hand and it (unsurprisingly) fit perfectly. As soon as he had done so, the device came to life. The buttons and trim began to glow softly.

"Well," said Greg quietly to himself, "what the hell--" and pulled the trigger.

A holographic disk sprang to life above the top part of the digivice. It displayed what looked like a map and there was one narrow, brighter section that swept back and forth. There was a word over the sweeping section: SEARCHING. After a moment the bright section disappeared and the text changed to: NO DIGIMON WITHIN RANGE. _It must ignore Renamon, _Greg supposed.

Greg looked closer at the map. It was undoubtedly the town they were in. He recognized the layout of the streets and could see figures and vehicles moving on them. _Must all be army guys,_ he thought. They had definitely surrounded the Main Street area and Greg could see a group doing a thorough search of a building three blocks away.

_With that many men--_ Greg mentally calculated, _--and that many buildings to search-- it should be at east a couple of hours before they get back to this part of town. Handy gadget, this thing._

He looked at the other buttons and saw that, under the edge of his thumb there was a selector switch with three positions marked: MAP, INFO and BATTLE. He moved it down one notch and the display changed. The circles surrounding the main area were similar but the central area displayed nothing. He waved his free hand between the hologram and the top of the device and the circles blanked out as his fingers interrupted whatever was projecting the image. He pulled the trigger again and the circles moved rapidly for a moment before red text appeared in the middle: NO DATA.

Greg thumbed the selector switch down to its last position and a more interesting display appeared. At the bottom was a blue bar that stretched between the digits 0 and 100. Above the bar were two rows of blank rectangles, above those were a series of tabs labeled: OFFENSE, DEFENSE, MOBILITY, and SPECIAL.

A small nub on the grip allowed him to move a cursor over the tabs. Greg selected the MOBILITY tab and a list of items popped up. _A-ha!_ he thought, _virtual cards! _He clicked on one labeled HYPER-SPEED and an icon popped into one of the rectangles. At the same time the blue bar shortened and the number below changed to 80.

Greg opened the SPECIAL tab and grinned. He clicked again, and a plain blue card appeared in the inventory. The blue bar dropped to 30. _Figures_, he thought, _a card that valuable has to "cost" more. _He selected two more useful cards that cost him 15 points apiece and then flipped the device back to MAP mode.

He found that the nub would zoom the map in and out. At full extent, it seemed to have a range of a quarter mile. And zoomed all the way in, it displayed the store he was in and the ones on either side. He could see the blip that was Gwen and the bright blue one that would be Renamon. Another button brought up a red arrow that pointed toward his partner. It turned as he moved his hand, always pointing at her. He flipped the digivice to INFO mode as he stood and turned around. "Hey, Renamon! Let me see if this thing will read your stats--" his voice faltered to a stop.

The back half of the storeroom had changed into a rough sandstone wall.

"What the--" he shook his head in disbelief. "Would you two stop staring at each other and tell me what's going on?"

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Almost all of Palo Alto had been consumed. The roads and bridges out of the Southern San Francisco peninsula were few and the damage done by the fires caused by the air battle had restricted traffic routes even further. The streets and freeways were clogged by the millions of people trying to flee the area.

When the roadway and their cars began to dissolve and change, most people panicked, got out of their vehicles, and began to run-- which was probably the best course of action. The wavefront of change was traveling no faster than a sedate walk.

There were a few, however, who stayed. Some because they couldn't leave, some because their curiosity overcame their fear, and some--

A young Stanford student had slept through it all. She only awoke when the bed in her small basement apartment changed into a moss-covered boulder and the sun hit her full in the face.

"Oh god," she groaned as she sat up, "why did I let Lisa talk me into going out bar-hopping last night?" Then she got a good look at her surroundings. "Crap! Oh crap! I thought I'd made it home! Did I fall asleep in the park?"

She looked around at the peaceful forest glade. It wasn't like any park she knew. She looked down at herself. She was wearing the sweats she used to sleep in. That meant she had to have made it home at some point and changed into them. So how did she get here? And where the hell _was_ here?

She picked a direction at random and began walking. Just before she decided that she was nowhere near her home she ran into something familiar: Railroad tracks. Along the tracks in the distance she could see buildings but she didn't recognize them and she didn't remember any dense patches of woods along the CalTrain route. She was still lost. She began walking along the tracks toward the far distant buildings.

A little while later she crossed a short stone bridge over a slowly flowing creek. Through the woods in the direction the stream went, she could see the roofs of a cluster of strangely shaped houses-- like a village from a fantasy film. It was certainly like nothing she knew of in the Bay Area.

"Is this some kind of joke?" she wondered aloud. "If one of Lisa's scummy friends slipped me some drug and then dumped me out here as a prank, I'm going to--"

She stopped in amazement. Maybe she _had_ been drugged. And maybe the drug hadn't worn off yet. That would explain why had just seen a big ball of blue fluff with one large yellow eye balanced on top of a single railroad wheel go zipping past her on one of the rails. But if she _wasn't_ under the influence of some weird chemical-- "Then just what the hell _was_ that thing?" she wondered aloud.

She didn't expect an answer but she got one. "That's a Child form of one of the Trailmon," said a chipper voice from behind her.

She turned and froze. On the ground behind her was a bizarre creature. It was about the size of a large bulldog with bright red fur and striking blue markings. It had a large, froggish mouth, long rabbit ears, and a fan of a tail that would have looked more at home on a bird. "Hi!" it said happily.

If it wasn't for the thought of how the noise would affect her hangover, she would have screamed.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

The Secretary of State's hands shook ever so slightly as he spoke. "As General Whitson said, we've got so many foreign spy satellites overflying California, it's a wonder some of them haven't collided. Russia, China, India-- even _France-- _they can all see exactly what's going on. The problem is that they don't believe it. They think it's a cover-up for something else. The Russian Foreign Minister is screaming about an accidental release of a nanotech weapon and threatening us if they see any evidence that pieces of it are crossing the Pacific."

"What about China?" the President asked him.

"That's the big problem," the Secretary replied, "the Chinese have stopped talking to us altogether. General Whitson?"

The Air Force general cleared his throat before he spoke and clicked the small remote he was holding. A strategic map with lots of glowing lines appeared on the screen. "Several Chinese military satellites have moved into new orbits and eight of their Jin-class subs in the Pacific have moved off-station and are approaching first-strike launch positions."

"Then they definitely are going to attack?"

"They are definitely _preparing_ for it. Whether or not they're just being defensive or they're crazy enough to actually start a nuclear war--" he trailed off, passing the hot potato off to the Secretary of State.

The Secretary hands were shaking more than a little. "I-- I just don't know. I think it comes down to just how _frightened_ the Central Committee is."

"I see," said the President. "Well, I can't answer that-- but I can ask a question that might give us an indication."

The men in the room were silent, waiting as the President scanned all of their faces. "Gentlemen-- how frightened are _we?_"

/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Okay, let me get this straight," Greg said to Renamon, "you made this happen somehow?" He gestured at the stone that now comprised more than half of the space they were in The room was looking more like a cave by the instant. Some of the torn boxes and broken equipment had become pebbles and dead leaves.

Renamon stared at him with her usual, unreadable expression for a moment before answering. "I don't understand, Greg. This is just the world."

"It's a different world than it was a minute ago. How did you do that?"

Renamon looked at the stone wall as if she hadn't seen it before. "I-- I did that? Strange-- I don't remember--" She broke off suddenly, her ears swiveling toward the front of the store. "Men," she said urgently, "Men and dogs-- and they're getting close."

Greg checked the map on his digivice and saw the approaching figures. "Okay, time to try this thing out," he said, clicking the switch to battle mode. "Gwen, move back and give us some room."

"What are you going to do? They want you alive, but if you attack them--"

"Don't worry, Renamon just needs a little growing room," he chuckled. "If you think she's impressive now, just watch _this!_" And he selected the blue card icon and pulled the trigger.

Renamon flared into a brilliant whirl of light that expanded and then coalesced into her huge nine-tailed kitsune form, Kyuubimon.

"Holy shit!" Greg had known what to expect but actually being in the same room with a fox that was bigger than a Kodiak bear was still a bit of a shock. That her paws and tail-tips burned with an eerie blue fire only added to the impression of immense, unearthly power.

Greg finally tore his eyes of his transformed partner to check on Gwen's reaction. She was flattened against one wall, as far from the digimon as possible. Her eyes were huge and her breathing was so rapid that it seemed she was on the verge of panic.

"Don't worry Agent Gwen, we'll be gone in a minute-- somebody else's problem."

"G-gone?" Gwen gasped. "The back door is solid stone, the front is where the troops are going to be in a minute, and that thing wouldn't fit through the door, anyway! Where are you going to go?"

Greg frowned a bit when the woman referred to Kyuubimon as "that thing". He stepped to Kyuubimon's side and stroked the powerful curve of her shoulder with his free hand. "You are _amazing_," he told her.

Kyuubimon lowered her great head until she was looking into Greg's eyes from only inches away. "_You_ made me this way," she said softly.

Greg made a curt gesture with his head. Kyuubimon understood and nodded her agreement. Greg took hold of the thick red-and-white cord that circled her neck and pulled himself up onto her back, settling in just behind her shoulders.

"There's a third option, Agent," he said, looking down on Gwen. "Kyuubimon-- let's go _up!_"

A wave of motion rippled through the giant fox's tails and nine balls of fire leaped from their tips. Eight flew upward, incinerating the ceiling in a burst of cold flame that left no debris behind. The ninth gout of fire swooped down to circle Agent Gwen, pausing before her face to grin wickedly before harmlessly vanishing.

Greg enjoyed her stupefied amazement immensely. "Goodbye, Gwen. I hope we'll get the chance to spar again sometime in the--"

"Wait!" Gwen gasped, pushing herself away from the wall. "Take me with you!"

"Huh?" It was the last thing Greg expected. The woman was clearly terrified of Kyuubimon and she considered him a terrorist-- or worse. What the hell was she thinking?

"Listen! You need a go-between. There have been so many screw-ups, things will only get worse if you can't contact the authorities somehow. If we can talk this all out and if I can--"

"Just how are you going to make contact if you go with me?" Greg asked suspiciously.

"I don't know! But I'll think of something. If you just disappear--"

"Okay, okay! I don't have time to debate this. Kyuubimon, can you carry us both?"

Kyuubimon sniffed in disdain. "As _Renamon_ I could carry you both!"

"That's my girl!" Greg grinned with affection and then turned and waved to Gwen. "Well, what are you waiting for? Hop on!"

/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Command, this is Air One. We have an explosion at the corner of Main and 4th Avenue. The roof of-- standby one." The pilot brought his helicopter around to get a better look at the creature that had just leaped out of the gaping hole. There were two people on its back giving him some sense of scale. The thing was huge-- and one of the persons on its back was-- "Target sighted! Repeat: Target sighted! He's on the roof with a large creature and another--"

Kyuubimon was fast. She could run as fast as an express train even without the addition of a Hyper Speed modification. And _with_ one-- the pilot saw only a blurred streak of gold and the roof top was empty.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

The President looked up as the Secretary of State hurried back into the situation room. "Please tell me you have some good news."

"Well, sir, I do-- at least it's _better_ news. The Chinese ambassador sent this message about ten minutes ago." He handed the short note to the President.

"'_For the next twenty-four hours, all ballistic missile facilities in the People's Republic will be undergoing maintenance_,'" the President read. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

The Secretary picked up his remote and brought up images on the room's large screen. "These are satellite reconnaissance pictures of ICBM silos in Manchuria. The big squares are the blast covers of the silos. They're sandwiches of concrete and steel that weigh several tons each. In order to launch the missiles, those covers are slammed aside by explosive charges and small rocket motors. Well--" the Secretary changed the view, "you see all those large vehicles? They're parked on the skid paths of the covers. They'd probably jam the covers if they tried to open them, preventing them from launching their ICBMs."

"This is a message! It means they don't _want_ an all-out war!" General Whitson said.

"Why the hell didn't they _say_ so instead of this nonsense about 'maintenance'?" the President asked angrily.

"Well, sir--" the Secretary said, in a slightly embarrassed tone of voice, "the Chinese aren't exactly direct at the best of times--"

The General was already calling up the map of the Pacific. "This fits in with the way those subs are behaving. Only three have continued on toward launch positions. The others are hanging back-- probably as backup if the first wave fails."

"Can we stop those three?" the President asked.

"We have hunter-killer subs in pursuit and destroyers and AGEIS cruisers are moving to intercept locations."

"But can we _stop_ them?" the President asked sharply. He wasn't used to repeating himself.

The General looked grim. "They are undoubtedly on a hair-trigger. As soon as they detect torpedoes, anti-sub missiles, or depth charges, they'll launch. The AGEIS cruisers will account for 90 to 95% of the missiles and, considering the number carried by Jin-class subs, that leave three to five warheads on target. So-- no. We can destroy them but not soon enough to stop them."

The room went quiet.

"So if we don't contain the problem, the Chinese will," the President said finally. "Is the nuclear option our only choice?"

The General clicked his remote. "You can see the North side of the gate structure here." He clicked another button on the remote and used the built-in laser pointer to indicate areas on the photo. "We managed to hit it here and here with depleted uranium shells. As you can see, the damage was minimal and it certainly didn't stop or even slow the flow of emerging creatures. We also had a near miss, only ten yards off, with some high explosive ordinance. You can't see any visible effect on the gate because there wasn't any. The gate alone requires something more than conventional weaponry. But the worst is what we're referring to as the transformative wavefront. It must be a mass of nano-devices, tearing down and re-assembling matter on a molecular level. There's no way we know of to stop such a weapon except to blanket the infected area with a nuclear fireball. The EMP from the blast may do some damage to the creatures as well. Three 10-megaton air-bursts should do it."

The room went quiet again. It stayed silent for a long time.

The President stared at the screen and said nothing.

General Whitson cleared his throat. "If we allow the infection to spread beyond the narrow confines of the San Francisco peninsula, we may never be able to--"

The President silenced him with a raised hand.

A moment later there was a chime and a small inset picture appeared on the main screen, revealing an agitated General Greenwaldt. "Mr. President?"

"Yes." the President's tone of voice shocked the men in the room who knew him well.

"Sir, I'm sorry to report that we've lost the target. And--" the General hesitated, swallowed hard, and then continued, "-and at his last known location, the landscape is changing-- changing like it is in California."

An appalled murmuring swept through the Situation Room.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Pres--"

The President abruptly stood. "General Whitson, I hereby order you to use nuclear weaponry to sterilize the infections in California and South Dakota. The boy who caused this is to be shot on sight-- as are all of the creatures." He turned to the Secretary of State. "Paul, send a message to the Chinese-- however you think they'll best react to it. Let them know what we're going to do."

"Sir--"

"Your facility is deep enough to survive an atomic blast?" The President asked General Greenwaldt.

"Yes sir, it would require a ground-penetrator to take us out."

"Good. Get all of your troops inside and as many of the local civilians as you can. You have--" he shot a look at General Whitson.

"Thirty-five minutes, sir. That's all the time we can give them."

"Understood," Greenwaldt said.

"Gentlemen," the President said, "I want it to be known that this is solely my decision. I alone will bear the responsibility for this action."

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Kyuubimon nearly flew. Her soaring leaps took them so high that they could see the countryside spread out below them. It was flat and treeless with a few small lakes dotted here and there. The speed they traveled at was so great that Greg and Gwen couldn't speak or move but only hang on with all their strength.

Just as the Hyper Speed wore off, they spotted a wooded hilly area. Without a blast of air that felt as if it was trying to strip the skin from his face, Greg managed to direct Kyuubimon towards it. As soon as they had landed safely and got among a dense stand of trees Gwen jumped off Kyuubimon's back and retreated to what felt like a safe distance. Greg remained on the kitsune's back while he got his breath.

"Wow!" He gasped happily as he slid down her side, "That was incredible!"

"What now?" Gwen asked.

"We can relax for a bit and then make plans," Greg told her. "As soon as I can get some time to think, I'll come up with some way to fix all this. It'll all work out okay-- you'll see."

"I sure hope so," Gwen said doubtfully.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

The President sat at his desk in the Oval Office and placed the letter he had just finished writing in a drawer. He thought about walking outside but decided that that might give a Secret Service Agent or a Marine guard a chance to prevent him from carrying out his plan. "Oh well," he said softly to himself, "It's not like other Presidents haven't left huge messes for their successors to clean up."

He picked up the pistol from the blotter, placed the mouth of the barrel firmly under his chin, and gently squeezed the trigger.

* * *

**Disclaimer:**

**None of the characters depicted in this story are meant to represent actual persons, least of all the President or any of his staff or advisers.**

**Author's Note:**

**The detailed description of the digivice was for A Dragon Knight, constant reviewer and damn fine writer, himself.**

**Sorry for the late update but the chapter was longer than usual, it was very difficult to write, and-- yeah, I gotta admit it, I've been spending a lot of time on the Digimon Battle MMO-- and if you think I **_**don't**_** have a couple of kick-ass, high level Renamon by now, you don't know me very well! ;)**


	9. Unthinkable

Chapter 9  
Unthinkable

"So," the girl asked the Elecmon who scampered ahead of her on the forest path that used to be the busy expressway, El Camino Real, "this village you're taking me to-- it's full of 'digimon' like you?"

"Digimon, yes," Elecmon agreed, "but not all like me. All sorts of digimon and some people like you."

"People? Where did _they_ come from?"

"They were already there! Village used to be people houses before Renamon changed them."

"Shit," the girl swore, "I still don't have any idea what's going on! So who's this Renamon and what--"

She was interrupted by a loud double bang from above. As she shaded her eyes and looked up there came two more sharp bangs. The last thing she ever saw was the glint of sunlight on something very high up and falling very fast.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Gwen, Greg, and Kyuubimon had found a little hollow just below the ridge of a hill that provided excellent concealment. A person would have to be almost on top of them before they could be seen.

Kyuubimon curled up and Greg leaned back against her flank, lacing his fingers behind his head. He felt justified in being a bit smug. It wasn't every day he escaped from a secret underground base _and_ a military manhunt.

Gwen sat, cross-legged, across the little hollow from the pair, frowning. "You should give yourself up. They're going to catch you sooner or later and--"

"Just surrender and get thrown into some dungeon in Guantanamo or Cesspoolistan?" Greg laughed, "No thank you! Oh, I'll turn myself in, alright-- but not until I've got some bargaining chips to make sure I don't get 'disappeared'."

"Like what?" Gwen asked. "What can you--" She was interrupted by a loud double bang.

"Sonic boom?" Greg wondered aloud. "What sort of aircraft--"

The entire world went white.

Greg instinctively threw his arms in front of his face, which hardly lessened the blinding light, and Kyuubimon began to scream. She thrashed beneath him and he turned, still unable to see, even though the terrible light was beginning to fade away, and tried to determine what was hurting her. Gwen was yelling something but Greg ignored her.

His sight began to clear in time to see a horrific scene. Kyuubimon had torn up the ground all around her as she writhed in agony and her shrieks were growing weaker by the second as huge chunks of her body ripped away and dissolved into clouds of golden sparks.

"No! No!" Greg yelled and instinctively tried to hold her together with his hands. The fragmenting pieces of Kyuubimon's body stung his hands and sent jolts up his arms as if he had grabbed at live electrical wires but he kept at it, not knowing what else to do. "_Please_, Kyuubimon, don't die! Don't leave me!"

Her weight grew lighter in his arms and her body wavered and changed. Soon she was small enough to pull into his lap and was coalescing back into her Renamon form. She slumped in his arms, only half conscious, moaning, "It hurts. The light-- it hurts."

Just then a sharp jolt of the ground shook them and Greg finally heard what Gwen was yelling. "Get down! Get down and open your mouth as wide as you can! Yawn!"

Greg was dazed and confused but her heard the certainty in Gwen's voice and he obeyed her, crouching over Renamon to shield her with his body, yawning hugely, and prying open her jaws with his hands, pulling them open as wide as he could. Renamon struggled feebly beneath him but hadn't the strength to resist.

For moments nothing happened and the the shockwave hit them like tsunami, slamming them to the ground. The immensity of the sound was beyond description and rush of wind that followed filled the air with dirt, debris, and leaves. Trees fell to either side of them and small branches crashed into them, tearing at their skin. There was a moment of calm air as the wind died but then it reversed and began to rush back in the opposite direction, though with less force than before.

Greg continued to hold the half-aware Renamon, rocking her slightly and reassuring her. "You'll be okay. I'm here. I won't let anything more happen to you. You're safe with me--"

Gwen coughed and spat out a mouthful of dirt and bits of leaf. She glanced at Greg and his partner, then crawled up to the ridge of the hill and looked out toward the Northwest where Humboldt had been. Even from over forty miles away, the gigantic, glowing mushroom cloud was a terrifying sight.

She slid back down below the ridge, thinking furiously. They had been sheltered by the hill, so direct radiation exposure would be minimal. The temperature had gone up about 15 degrees-- she was beginning to sweat-- so that meant the bomb was an air-burst intended to--

"So they wanted me alive, huh?" Greg yelled at her from below, interrupting her thoughts. The nuclear cloud had risen high enough by then that he could see it from where he was. "Maybe a tazer would have been a better choice of weapon?" There was a definite note of hysteria in his voice.

"Greg, I swear to you, our orders were to take you alive at all costs. When I--"

Renamon moaned again and Greg stopped listening to the woman. "I'm here-- it's okay."

"I-- I-- don't want to go--" Renamon muttered, "--I need to-- do my duty. I have to protect the world. I have to-- serve you and keep your creation safe."

Gwen slid down the hillside and moved over to the pair. "What's she talking about?" Half of the reason for her question was genuine curiosity but half was to distract Greg from what she was about to do.

"You just rest, now," Greg said to Renamon as he stroked her cheek. He didn't look away from his partner as he answered Gwen's question. "I designed Renamon to keep the simulation stable-- to deal with digimon who became too powerful and to make adjustments to the environment that caused instabilities."

Gwen glanced up, trying to estimate how long they'd have before fallout particles began to float down from the stratosphere. It all depended on wind patterns she had no knowledge of. "How did she do that?" she asked as she surreptitiously used one hand to tear at the lining of her jacket.

"The high level ones that threw things out of balance, she'd move to isolated locations or convince them to become non-fighting mentors-- teachers of the younger digimon. If she couldn't do that, she'd kill them."

Gwen worked a tiny hole in the lining and wormed a finger inside, groping for a small plastic item that was hidden there. "But she's a low-level herself, isn't she?"

"I gave her the ability to increase her own strength and abilities as necessary. Hell, she could even alter the geography of the sim if she felt it was needed. Sometimes a weird bit of terrain would force digimon to--"

Gwen took a firm grip on the triangle of plastic, pulled it free of its hiding place, and jabbed it toward Greg's unprotected side. Greg was so focused on his partner that he didn't notice the woman's sudden movement, but only Renamon's reaction. One of Renamon's massive hands shot up and clamped around Gwen's forearm. Greg turned and saw the little piece of plastic with the sharp needle end held motionless only an inch from his side. Gwen grunted with effort as her face went pale from the pain of Renamon's vice-like grip, but the needle moved no further. Renamon squeezed a little harder and Gwen gasped and the thing fell from her hand.

Renamon shifted in his lap, still holding the agent as she began to sit up. Gwen tore at Renamon's fist with her other hand, trying to free herself without any noticeable result. When Renamon stood and dragged the woman to her feet, Gwen shifted her weight and slammed a vicious kick into the digimon's stomach. It was like kicking a tractor tire.

"Shall I kill her for you, Greg?" Renamon asked calmly and quietly, still a bit unsteady on her feet but seemingly completely unfazed by the attack.

"No, Renamon," Greg said as he picked up the little thing and looked at it. It had a short needle that was attached to a plastic bulb full of a clear brown liquid. He looked up from the nasty little weapon to Gwen's face. "Not yet, anyway. And don't break her arm, please."

Greg turned the little injector over in his hand and asked, "So what's in this? Was it supposed to finish the job the nuke failed to do?"

"It's just a tranquilizer," Gwen said through gritted teeth. Renamon's grip on her was still painful and her arm was going numb. "We'll be getting fallout soon. I needed to get you out of here quick and I didn't think you'd willingly leave this-- _thing_." Gwen indicated Renamon with a jerk of her head.

Greg went very still. "Don't ever call her a 'thing' again," he said in a monotone that that was more threatening than any shout or promise of violence. Gwen got the message.

"I-- I'm sorry," she said.

Greg tossed the injector aside and bent to retrieve his digivice. He pulled the trigger but there was only a brief flicker of the info disk before the unit went dead. A closer look revealed a text message on one edge of the black screen on top: UNIT DAMAGED - RECHARGING / REPAIRING.

_Figures_, Greg thought, _the electromagnetic pulse from the nuke must have cooked it. Probably the EMP is what hit Renamon so hard, too_. He turned to his partner who was still holding Gwen. "Renamon, are you strong enough to travel?"

"Yes, Greg. But I don't think I'll be able to carry you far."

"That's okay, you won't have to carry anyone."

"But we need to get out of here fast," Gwen interrupted. "We may not get fallout for a while-- or if we're really lucky it might all blow away from us, but we can't take that chance. We need to move!"

Greg nodded, "Let's get going then. You can let her go now, Renamon. Gwen, hand me your jacket-- _slowly_."

/\/\/\/\/\/\

The Vice President stared at the assembly in the Situation Room. Everything he had just heard seemed like the fantasies of a madman. But there was no denying it. He could see for himself the massive destruction in the Bay Area and South Dakota.

"Sir?" asked the White House Chief of Staff, "we need you to be sworn in as soon as possible. The Press Secretary is preparing a short announcement. People are beginning to panic and we need you to reassure them."

"What about--" he gestured to the scenes of unimaginable carnage that flickered across the large information screen.

"The National Guard, FEMA, and the Red Cross are already mobilized. We're deploying field hospitals, supplies and everything necessary to minimize the loss of life."

"Minimize? _Minimize!?_ You've got to be _fucking kidding me!_ How many people are dead already?"

"Sir, please--"

_ "HOW MANY!?"_

General Whitson stepped forward. "We don't know for sure. But we estimate 100,000 in South Dakota and less than 2 million in California. If we can control the exposure to--"

But the Vice President was backing away from the group, shaking his head.

"Please, Mr. President--" the Secretary began.

"Oh no-- _no_, don't you _dare_ call me that! If you think I'm taking the oath after this-- to hell with you all! Go get the Speaker of the House and see if he wants to inherit this monumental clusterfuck! I'm resigning as of _now_!" He spun and fled from the room.

For the moment, the Ship of State had no captain to steer her.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Greg and Gwen had gone a long distance South along the arrow-straight farm roads on their stolen bicycles. Renamon was between them, boosting their speed by pushing on their backs as she ran. They passed several farms and stalled vehicles but only saw people a couple of times before dark. For some reason those people didn't seem to notice Renamon. At least they didn't react in any way.

One man called out to them as they passed, asking if they knew what was happening. They ignored him and kept going. There was a waning moon and they were able to see well enough to travel after nightfall but Renamon began to stumble from fatigue and they decided to stop and rest.

The remnants of the mushroom cloud were just visible on the Northern horizon at sunset and it seemed as if the ash and smoke were blowing Eastward away from them. At least no ash was falling where they were and the sky above them was clear. They pulled the bicycles off the road and into a cornfield.

"We've got to find some water soon," Greg said. "I'm dying of thirst."

"The river should be to the East of us a few miles. It might be safe to take a detour," Gwen said. "By the way-- if you could let me have my jacket--"

"I'm dying of thirst, not _stupidity_," Greg snapped.

"Alright, but we'd have a better chance of surviving if we knew what's going on, right? There's a little radio in there--"

"Wouldn't the EMP have burnt it out?"

Gwen shook her head. "It's shielded."

Greg spread the jacket out on the ground and ripped away the lining. There were several small devices held in elastic loops inside. None of them looked like a radio.

"It's the stubby cylinder," Gwen told him. "Twist the knurled end off and there are earbuds inside. The other end extends as an antenna and turns it on. The ring around the middle tunes it."

"What's the rest of this stuff?"

Gwen pointed from where she sat. "That's the antidote for the trank you threw away, that's a lockpick set, that's-- well, that one _is_ poison-- that's a detonator and enough C4 to blow up a good-sized SUV, that's a plastic knife, that's a flashlight, and that last one is a GPS homing device. Don't worry, it's not on and it's not shielded, either, so the EMP probably _did_ ruin it."

Greg would have given a low whistle if his lips hadn't been so dry. "You're a well-equipped woman, Agent Gwen."

"I wish my kit included a Geiger-counter," she said sourly.

Greg checked on Renamon before opening up the little radio. She had curled up and gone to sleep as soon as they had stopped moving. She was breathing softly and regularly. He stroked her back gently and she murmured something in her sleep.

"You really do care for her, don't you?" asked Gwen as Greg fitted the earbuds.

"Why do you find that so odd?"

"She's so damned-- _alien_. But you two act like old friends-- or maybe something more."

Greg stopped fiddling with the radio and looked sharply at Gwen. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well--" Gwen hesitated.

"Look, you tried to beat me up, knock me out, and they guys you work for just blew up a big chunk of South Dakota trying to kill me. Don't you think it's a bit late to worry about insulting my feelings?"

Gwen shrugged, "Okay, then. You touch each other the way _lovers_ do. Even though she looks mostly like an animal, you gave her some pretty damned impressive hips and thighs and most women would _kill_ to have an ass like hers! I know you didn't give her much up top but some guys don't care for big--"

"Wait a minute! Wait a minute! What do you mean, I 'gave' her those-- those--"

"Well, you designed her, didn't you?"

"No! She's just like she was in the TV show!"

"Oh-- well-- my bad, then. I just assumed that a kid's show wouldn't include--"

Greg laughed. "Oh you wouldn't believe some of the sexiness and innuendo they put in some cartoons!"

He seemed to want to dodge the issue of his relationship with the monster, so Gwen let him change the subject. "Really? Like what?"

"Well, there's one of the later episodes of Digimon Tamers where Sakuyamon 'loans her power' to another character. What it visually consists of is her taking off her clothes-- and that makes the guy's glowing red sword grow longer!"

"You're lying! They wouldn't dare!"

"No kidding. If I still had my iTouch, I'd show you."

Gwen couldn't resist one last jab. "Hm-- Renamon doesn't have much in the way of clothes to shed. Does that mean your sword won't--"

"Hey!"

"Are you blushing? It's too dark to tell."

Greg ignored her and extended the radio's antenna. He twisted the middle ring until he heard the squawking tones of the Emergency Broadcast System's attention signal. "Shh, I'm getting something."

Gwen watched his face fall. Even in the dim moonlight his stunned expression was clear. "Oh my God. No-- they-- no--"

"Greg? What is it?"

Greg pulled the earbuds out, threw the little radio at her, and turned away and knelt beside Renamon.

Gwen snatched the radio out of the air and hurriedly put the earbuds into her ears. She listened in disbelief to the dry recitation of the details of the greatest disaster to befall the modern world for as long as she could stand it and then telescoped the antenna back into the case and stowed away the earbuds.

She looked at Greg where he knelt, motionless beside his sleeping friend. His hand rested lightly on her shoulder and she could see the glint of moonlight on his tears as the fell.

"God, Greg, I--"

"All my friends," he said, his voice thick with emotion, "my job, my home, all those _people_-- why would they _do it?_"

"I don't know-- I-- I just don't know." Gwen said.

"Well, I don't care," Greg said as he rose to his feet with his digivice in his hand. "I don't give a _damn_ why they did it." He looked up and Gwen started in shock at the hatred she saw in his face. "They're going to pay for it. I'm going to _make_ them pay!"


	10. Traveling

**Author's Note:**

**The unexpurgated version of this chapter is in the story: **_**An Extra Loop in the Snake.**_

* * *

Chapter 10  
Traveling

The trio continued South and West. They passed beyond the limit of the bomb's EMP effect and the roads became crowded with vehicles-- civilian ones moving away from the area, military ones moving into it.

They abandoned the bicycles and began moving cross-country to avoid being seen. Gwen could have betrayed them several times by calling out to nearby troops or falling behind, then running for safety. But she didn't. Greg was too self-absorbed by his own reaction to the tragedy to give it much thought but he knew that if Gwen _did_ try something, Renamon would be more than capable of handling a few weekend warriors and their pitiful weaponry. Gwen knew it, too, but that was only one of the reasons she quietly went along.

Gwen's lockpick set and her knowledge of alarm systems came in very handy the next night, enabling them to procure equipment and camp-food from a sporting goods store. Afterwards, they found a protected area next to a little stream, spread out their sleeping bags, and set up the little camp stove to cook their dinner. Renamon disappeared into the night, patrolling the area and keeping watch over them.

With a full belly and a warm sleeping bag around him, Greg relaxed a bit. Gwen looked over at him and simply said, "My grandparents lived in Atherton."

Atherton had been the next little town North of Palo Alto on the San Francisco Peninsula. Had been. It didn't exist any longer.

"I'm sorry--" Greg began and then broke down in tears.

Gwen didn't say anything. She let him get it out, let him do as much as possible to release his emotions while keeping what he could of his dignity.

He wiped his face on his sleeve and was silent for a while.

Gwen said nothing.

"It's not my fault," he said, eventually. "It was just a simple simulation. Hell, even when it got out of control, it _still_ wasn't doing much harm. If I hadn't been kidnapped maybe I could have done something-- got it under control or stopped it."

"Like what?" Gwen knew better than to offer an opinion. People talked best when they weren't sidetracked.

"Maybe I could have just asked Renamon to stop it. She's the one who organized the invasion, after all. Hell, she only did it in the first place because she felt she had to rescue me!"

"She's capable of that sort of complexity?"

"Of _course_ she is! She's my masterpiece-- and she's grown _way_ beyond her original parameters. Even my low-level AIs don't just follow a stupid script. They're actually capable of _learning_! There was one NPC that I made for--" Greg went on about his work for quite a while, which was exactly what Gwen wanted. She didn't care about the details of programming, of course-- what she wanted was for Greg to open up to her. She gave him a sympathetic ear and let him talk.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Over the next few days as they traveled, Gwen got Greg to reveal a great deal about himself. They fell into a tenuous friendship that soon began to feel natural and easy-going to Greg. Gwen was very good at her job. One subject Greg didn't touch on again was his vow of revenge but she knew he hadn't forgotten it.

There were roadblocks and military patrols everywhere but between the map function of Greg's digivice, which had finished repairing and recharging itself sometime on the third day of their journey, and Renamon's supernaturally keen senses, they had no trouble avoiding them.

They sneaked into towns at night to replenish their food and water. Most were small places and despite the nation-wide curfew, they had no trouble dodging the few sheriff or National Guard patrols. By herself, Renamon could have strolled through the towns in broad daylight and still avoided notice but Greg didn't want to be separated from her for long. So, despite having his face on every news channel as the world's most wanted man, he insisted on coming along on the supply raids.

Both Gwen and Greg were in excellent shape and had no trouble traveling quite a distance each day. Renamon had regained her full strength and offered to carry them both in order to speed up their progress but Gwen flatly refused.

"It's okay, Renamon," Greg said, "we're not in a real hurry and all this walking gives me time to plan."

Gwen didn't like the sound of that. She still had no idea where they were headed or what Greg intended to do when they got there.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

They had been traveling just over a week when Gwen decided it was the right time to make a pass at Greg.

They'd raided a small market and retreated to the little woodlot where they'd made camp. Greg and Gwen cooked their dinner while Renamon climbed to the top of grain silo about half a mile away to keep watch. Renamon never ate with them. She'd let Greg give her a tidbit or sweet once in a while but mainly fed herself while on patrol. Greg had asked her what she usually found to eat and after getting the brief reply, "Rabbits. Sometimes lambs," he decided not to look into the matter too closely.

That night after they had eaten well, Gwen revealed a surprise. She reached into her pack and pulled out a six-pack of beer. "Ta-da! I snagged it when you weren't looking. I hope you like the brand-- I just grabbed it at random." It was a lie, of course. Gwen had paid close attention to every last personal detail that Greg had divulged during their trip. He had only mentioned his favorite beer once in passing, but Gwen had made a special note of it.

"Wow! You hit the jackpot, Agent Gwen! This is great-- but-- aw, hell, _one_ can't hurt, can it?"

Gwen opened one for herself and passed another to Greg. "Only luxury we're gonna get for a while. Cheers!"

Greg twisted the top off the beer and, rather solemnly, returned the toast, "Confusion to the Enemy."

They finished the first beers and Gwen opened a second and passed it to Greg.

"I don't know if I should--"

"Oh come on! We're in the middle of nowhere and the Holy Terror is out there watching over us-- we can get a _little_ buzzed. Or are you worried about getting a beer-belly?" She scooted over to him and poked him in the stomach with a forefinger.

Greg gave a half-chuckle and said, "No, the hobo lifestyle seems to agree with me. I think I've lost whatever body-fat I once had."

"Oh yeah?" Gwen took a long pull from her beer and then set it down and reached out and grabbed Greg's shirt and pulled it up. She placed her other hand on Greg's bare abs and ran it up under the edge of his shirt to just below his pecs. "Yup-- still rock-hard-- you've got no worries. Very _nice_, in fact."

Before Greg could recover from his shock, Gwen took her hands off him. He took a drink to cover his brief embarrassment.

"You're not the only one with abs of steel, you know." Gwen said, giving him time to swallow so there was no chance he'd do a spit-take. She pulled her own shirt up, revealing her own stomach and tensed her muscles. "How about that, huh? How many girls do you know with muscle tone like _that_?"

"I-- uh--" Greg was a bit flustered but his eyes were right where Gwen wanted them.

She didn't give him time to turn to another subject. She reached over and took his free hand and placed it on her taut belly. "Yeah, I'm not as ripped as you are, but I've got pretty damned good definition-- feel that?"

"Yeah--" Greg breathed.

Gwen leaned closer, pressing one of her breasts against his upper arm and pushed his hand up higher on her body. "That's all muscle-- obliques, not ribs-- and-- and--"

She could feel his pulse racing. "And?" he asked, not offering any resistance to her guiding hand as she pushed his up over a wonderfully firm breast.

"And-- your hand on me feels good-- _really_ good." Gwen said in a low, soft voice. "It's been a long time since-- _OOF!"_

Gwen's seductive tone ended in a gasp as all of the air was knocked out of her lungs. She found herself flat on the ground, pinned to the earth by one of Renamon's massive hands. The fox's sapphire eyes blazed with anger and her teeth were bared in a savage snarl. One foot was placed squarely on Gwen's belly, the curved black claws pricking her skin. One twitch of Renamon's powerful thigh and she'd be gutted like a trout.

"Renamon, stop!" Greg yelled, "Let her go!"

Renamon glanced at him, still snarling and then returned her attention back to Gwen. She bent her head down until it nearly touched Gwen's face. Gwen could feel Renamon's hot breath on her skin as the fox hissed ever so quietly between her teeth, "He's _mine!_"

_"Renamon!"_

Renamon released the woman and stepped back. Gwen sat up, gasping for air.

"Shit, Gwen, are you alright?" Greg asked as he got to his feet.

"Yeah, yeah-- *cough* --just _fine_." Gwen sneered, "But I think _y_our _AI_ could use a little adjustment to its _programming_." It was a calculated risk. Gwen didn't want to die at the hands of an enraged digimon but she also wanted to take any chance she could to drive a wedge between Greg and Renamon. A calculated insult that reminded him his "partner" was just an artificial being was too good to pass up.

Renamon glared at her but otherwise didn't move.

"Renamon," Greg said turning to his partner, "why did you do that? I mean, it's not like-- I mean, we didn't--"

"I see," Renamon's tail lashed in annoyance. "Do what you like, Greg. I'm sorry I interfered."

"No, wait--" Greg began, but Renamon suddenly vanished from sight.

Gwen stood and moved over to Greg, pressing herself against his side. "Greg, she really _scares_ me. She might have killed me. I think-- I think she may be unstable--"

He didn't say anything, but the look Greg gave her told her that he didn't give a _damn_ what she thought. He shoved her roughly away, grabbed his coat, and stalked out into the darkness.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Renamon!" Greg called. "Renamon, please answer me!" He knew he'd never find her if she wanted to stay hidden but he also guessed she would be within range of his voice. "Renamon, please! I'm really sorry about what happened back there. She caught me off-guard."

He paused to listen. An owl hooted in the distance.

"Damnit, Renamon! I don't--" Greg broke off as a thought occurred to him. He fished in the big outside pockets of his coat and came up with his digivice. "I'm not letting you run away from me," he called as he thumbed the locater on. As long as she didn't use her speed to avoid him, he could-- The red triangle popped up, indicating Renamon's location: She was right behind him.

He spun around to find his partner, arms crossed over her chest, glowering at him. "What do you want, Greg?" Her voice was just as icy as her eyes.

"Isn't it obvious, you dumb fox?" Greg nearly shouted, as he tossed his digivice aside, "I want _you!_"

"Alright. I'm here. If you want to talk, I'm listening. Or maybe you want to _re-program_ me--"

"Shut up!" Greg _did_ shout then. "I won't _ever_ let _anyone_ talk like that about you again, and I sure as hell don't want to hear it from you! You're not a program or a _thing_! You're-- you're-- "

"I'm wha--" Renamon couldn't finish her question. Greg grabbed her by both cheeks and planted a forceful kiss on her mouth.

For an instant, he thought he'd made a mistake. Renamon stiffened and kept her lips were pressed tightly together. But only for an instant. Then she slowly relaxed, dropping her arms to her sides. Her lips softened and parted, returning Greg's kiss as her arms came up to circle him.

It was weird.

She wasn't human. She wasn't an animal. She was something in between and something greater than both-- something new and different. She smelled just a good as Greg remembered and she tasted even better. Her mouth felt odd against his-- different lips-- sharp teeth-- and a tongue that glided across his like-- like--

Weird but good. No, _great_.

After quite some time, they parted. But not very far. Renamon sighed and rested her head on Greg's shoulder. "When I saw you touching her, I-- I felt-- so _awful_. Worse than any wound I've ever had. Worse than when the bomb burned me."

Greg stroked her back for a while before answering, enjoying the feel of the long sweep of muscles beneath her silky fur. "She set me up, you know. I never would have--"

Renamon raised her hand and placed one rather huge fingertip on Greg's lips, silencing him. "I know-- but it still hurt." She raised her head and gazed into his eyes, her pupils gone huge and dark. "Please make the hurt go away."

He did his best. With his hands and his lips and his body, he showed her how beautiful she was, how much he desired her, and when they lay in the grass together, her beneath him and her long silken tail curled around and caressing the naked flesh of his back, he paused just before they joined and said, "How could you believe I would want her when it's _you_ I love?"

He moved upward and she gasped and cried out his name.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Gwen sprawled beside the dying embers of the campfire and reached for another beer. There weren't any more.

She squinted at the stars and tried to make them come into focus. It was very late and Greg had still not returned.

She crawled into her sleeping bag without undressing and fumbled briefly with the stuck zipper before giving up. She rolled onto her side and just as sleep overtook her, she muttered one slurred word.

"Goddamnit."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**If you're looking for another good story with Renamon in it and haven't already found it, I recommend **_**Against Destiny**_** by CannedCream. He's a great writer and storyteller. Check it out:**

**www . fanfiction . net / s / 5386530 / 1 / Against_Destiny**

**[spaces added to fool FF's auto URL-killer]**


	11. Plan B

**Author's Note:**

**The unexpurgated version of this chapter is in the story: **_**An Extra Loop in the Snake.**_

* * *

Chapter 11  
Plan B

Gwen awoke with a dry, foul-tasting mouth and a small but vicious headache lurking behind her eyes. She propped herself up on an elbow and looked across the ashes of the campfire to where Greg and Renamon lay tangled together on his sleeping bag. Greg was smiling, even in his sleep.

_Yeah,_ Gwen told herself,_ that's love-- no doubt about it. So much for Plan A._ She began to make a mental assessment of the options left to her. The picture wasn't pretty. If she had been able to seduce Greg and eventually bring him and maybe even his digimon in alive, she would have been a world-class hero-- even though nobody outside of her agency would have known about it.. Plan B would be a lot more messy and a lot less heroic. _And_ a lot more dangerous.

Neither of the pair had moved but as Gwen looked closer, she saw that the digimon was awake and watching her. One eye was open just a tiny bit-- a narrow blue slit with a dark pupil that was locked onto her. _No point in subtleties, now,_ Gwen thought and flipped the monster the bird. It must have understood the gesture because it lifted its lip enough to reveal one sharp canine tooth.

_Good,_ thought Gwen, _hate, I can work with._

/\/\/\/\/\/\

The next couple of days were the most severe trial of her patience that Gwen had ever undergone. Greg and his partner were utterly revolting. They both grinned like idiots all the time, touching each other whenever possible, whispering to each other, and generally behaving like a couple of brainless teenagers. At least they went well out of earshot when they left the campsite each night.

And that gave Gwen time to plan. They were getting careless, forgetting that she wasn't really on their side and giving her several opportunities to prepare herself. The trouble wasn't in "neutralizing" Greg. Despite his formidable martial arts skills, he had left himself open to a deadly strike several times already and would, no doubt, do so again in the future. Gwen had equipped herself with a couple of makeshift weapons, any of which could do the job very handily-- and very _quickly_.

The problem was the damned digimon. Gwen had no doubts that she could easily kill Greg but she knew she had no defense against the digimon and wouldn't survive very long after harming Greg. And who knew what sort of rampage the monster would go on if its tamer (and lover, Gwen reminded herself with a little wince of disgust) weren't around to control it?

But she had the beginnings of a plan-- all she needed was a bit of time and luck.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Gwen got a chance to have an extended conversation with Greg only a couple of days later. They were approaching a large city and Renamon needed more time than usual to scout out safe routes for them to follow. She'd been asking him about digimon in general and their methods of fighting in particular, hoping to discover particular weaknesses, but was constantly interrupted by Renamon appearing to give Greg directions-- and get a quick cuddle or smooch, of course.

But that day, there were very few interruptions. Even so, Gwen found herself straying from her intended line of subtle interrogation.

"Do you ever-- listen, I don't want to piss you off but--" Gwen knew she was loosing focus but, for once, she was being honest. "--there's something that's been bugging me--"

Greg glanced over at her and shrugged, "If I don't like what you ask, I'll tell you to mind your own business, fair enough?"

Gwen nodded. "Okay then-- do you ever wonder if Renamon loves you just because she's _programmed_ to?"

Greg actually laughed. "She never _had_ any such directive! She was originally designed to have to _obey_ me, that's all. And she broke _that_ directive petty damned easily."

"Okay-- but you _made_ her. You designed the way she thinks-- or the way she's _supposed_ to think, at least. Doesn't being-- uh-- _romantic_ with her feel a little creepy to you?"

Greg frowned at that and was silent for a while. "No," he said, finally, "it's feels _wonderful_. And as for the artist / creation thing-- it worked out just fine for Pygmalion, didn't it?"

"Pig-who?"

Greg chuckled. "Too busy learning to kill people to study the classics, Gwen? There's a Greek myth about a sculptor, Pygmalion, who made a statue of a woman so beautiful that he fell in love with it and prayed to the gods to make it into a real woman. Worked out fine. They had a bunch of kids if I remember right."

"So," Gwen scowled, "you're planning on having kids with that-- with Renamon? What the hell would they _look_ like?"

"Uh--" Greg's eyes went wide.

_Oh-ho!_ Gwen thought. _Hasn't thought about _that_, has he? I'll bet he hasn't been taking any precautions, either. Maybe I can use this to knock him off-balance._

But Greg relaxed almost instantly. "Naw-- couldn't happen. I don't think she actually has anything resembling DNA, let alone _human_ DNA. There won't be any little Gregs with fox tails running around, I'm afraid."

The image that comment put in Gwen's head nearly made her gag. She dropped the subject and tried to get back on course. "Uh-- riiight. So about these data, virus, and vaccine types you were telling me about--"

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Gwen knew something was up when they didn't make camp as soon as the sun began to go down.

They made their way into the city. The curfew actually made it easy to remain unobserved: There was nobody on the streets to see them. Renamon covered the rooftops and guided them away from the police and National Guard patrols.

"Where the hell are we going?" Gwen hissed at Greg.

"Renamon?"

"Not far now," Renamon said, appearing suddenly just behind Gwen.

Gwen jumped in surprise but managed not to cry out. "Damnit, would you _stop_ doing that?"

Renamon ignored her. "Two blocks that way. The nearest patrol is a quarter mile in the other direction."

Greg nodded and Renamon disappeared again. A few moments later they arrived behind a large strip mall and passed several loading docks until Greg stopped and made a sweeping gesture toward a door with one hand while holding out the little lock pick set to her with the other. "Okay, Gwen, do your stuff!"

She stared at the sign next to the door: It was an electronics store. "Oh, no! No fucking way! I don't mind helping you get food and clothes but I'm sure as hell not going to put weapons in your hands!"

"Okay," Greg said, shrugging and opening the little case. "I've been watching you operate the last few times and it looks pretty easy. I'll do it myself."

Twenty minutes later he still hadn't gotten the lock open. "Damnit!" he cursed and stuffed the little metal tools back into their case and snapped it shut.

"Good," Gwen sighed. "Now, can we get out of here?"

"If you think I'm letting a stubborn lock stop me, you really don't know me very well." Greg turned to his partner. "Renamon, rip that door off its hinges and when the troops show up to answer the alarm-- _distract_ them. Don't kill any more of them than you absolutely have to."

"Wait, wait!" Gwen said urgently. "You wouldn't really--"

"Try me."

"Shit." Gwen looked into Greg's face and believed him. "Okay-- okay, give me the picks. But, please-- if I do this for you, will you promise me something?"

"What is it?"

"Whatever gadgets you get out of there-- whatever you do with them-- promise me they won't be used to harm anyone."

Greg was silent for a moment. Then he turned away from her and looked down at the ground.

"Greg?"

"I never meant to hurt _anyone_, Gwen," he said in a low voice. "The guys who died fighting my digimon-- okay, maybe that _is_ my fault. But at least they were armed and had a chance. It was a stand-up fight. Maybe not an _even_ fight, but they were all volunteers and they shot first."

"And the millions of people who--"

Greg spun on his heel, glaring at her angrily, "Oh no! No way in hell you are going to blame _that_ on me! The fucking _government_ did that-- and it was completely unnecessary! I had _nothing_ to do with that obscenity!"

"Alright, alright," Gwen said, throwing her hands in the air in surrender, "just tell me you aren't intending to do _more_ harm."

"What I'm intending is _change_. Sometimes change is painful. I'll promise you that I won't intentionally harm any innocents-- now or ever. Now, are you going to open that door or are we going to do this the hard way?"

Gwen made a point of opening the lock and disarming the alarm in under fifteen seconds.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Greg actually began humming happily as he loaded up the shopping cart.

"All of that crap won't fit in our backpacks," Gwen told him.

"Yeah, you're right. Can you see if you can find a duffel bag or something?"

Gwen happily complied. It gave her a chance to put Plan B into action. She knew a lot more about electronics than she had let on to Greg and a few minutes alone would let her rig something very useful. But her main weapon that night was going to be something a lot simpler: A pen and a pad of paper.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

They traveled through the night, getting as far from the city as possible before sunrise. They found a place to camp along a fairly large river and slept for several hours while Renamon kept watch over them.

The rest of the day they stayed there by the river while Renamon scouted. She returned several times, consulted quietly with Greg and then took off again.

Gwen ached to know what they were planning but knew better than to ask the question outright. Instead, she kept up an innocent-seeming conversation with Greg, almost instinctively trying to glean more information even though she had already done what she could to communicate everything she knew to her superiors.

That evening Renamon led them to a disused grain storage depot near a truck stop on Highway 80 and Greg began assembling his equipment.

Gwen took stock of her surroundings and prepared to take action. She moved a short piece of broken angle iron out of the place where she set her backpack down, casually positioning it where she could grab and swing it all in one motion. She palmed an icepick out of the small side pocket on her pack and tucked it up one sleeve, then did the same with a small, innocent-looking cardboard tube with a plastic handle on one end. Lastly, she pushed the power button on the modified cell phone she had hidden inside a jumbo bag of M&Ms candy.

Greg crouched over the laptop and its attached devices, typing rapidly. Gwen tried to move in close to him as if to get a better look at what was on the small computer's screen and Renamon stopped her-- just as she had expected.

Gwen sneered at the digimon, "Fine, keep your little secrets!" and turned away, crossing the dusty room to stand at the open window and look out at the countryside. She leaned against the window frame and looked up into the night sky-- waiting for a signal.

After an hour or so, she saw it. Three aircraft flying in formation, their wing lights blinking in a particular pattern. She glanced at Greg. He was no longer furiously typing but he was still completely engrossed by whatever was on the computer screen. Renamon wasn't anywhere to be seen. The cell phone had gotten the aircraft into the general area-- it was time to provide the pinpoint. Gwen slid the little boating safety flare she had gotten at the first sporting goods store they had robbed out of her sleeve, pointed it out the window, and pulled sharply on the plastic knob on the end.

There was a sharp pop as the flare fired and streaked up into the dark, sputtering a baleful red light. Renamon was at her side almost immediately and slapped her to the floor then stood on her. Gwen tore at the paw that pressed down on her to no avail.

Greg jumped up at the noise and rushed over, first looking out the window at the dying flare and then down at Gwen. "What did you do? Damnit Gwen! _What did you do?_"

"End of the road, Greg. You should have surrendered when you had the chance. They'll be launching an Enhanced Energy Weapon any second now. You and I will probably survive the blast but the EMP will finish your monster here. And there are a couple hundred paratroops up there who will make sure you are caught or dead soon afterward." She broke off with a cry of pain as a snarling Renamon twisted her paw, her hooked black claws tearing through Gwen's shirt and into her skin.

"Stop it, Renamon!" Greg yelled, "We don't have time for that!" He ran back to the laptop and typed frantically for a moment. There was a chime and an artificial voice intoned, "Digitization Sequence initiated." Renamon ran to Greg and pulled him into a tight embrace as Gwen struggled up from the floor.

"You've forced me to do this before I was ready," Greg shouted as both he and Renamon began to glow and sparkle with an eerie light. "If I survive this, I'll be back-- " He and his partner began to break up into bits of light that began drifting downward and into the computer screen and his voice crackled and distorted. "And you, Agent Gwen--"

Gwen had stumbled over to the piece of strategically-placed angle iron and grabbed it.

"--you -- are no -- innocent."

She flung the piece of steel as hard as she could, striking the little laptop square on. There was no explosion or sparks-- nothing dramatic. The computer simply shattered and went dark and the floating motes of light that had been Greg and Renamon faded away.

Seconds later the sky outside went white and Agent Gwen rolled herself into a tight ball and opened her mouth wide.


	12. Fallout

Chapter 12  
Fallout

Gwen didn't get the hero's welcome from the agency that she thought she deserved. She was convinced that her last effort with the piece of angle iron had disrupted whatever it was that Greg was trying to do. And if he _had_ managed to transfer himself into the computer network, the EMP should have fried him and his monster just as it had every other computer in or near Grand Island, Nebraska.

Her superiors weren't so sure. She spent the next month being debriefed dozens of times and re-walking her escape route with several forensics teams in tow and treated little better than a suspect herself.

Still, she was the only person who had any solid idea how Greg thought and what he was capable of, so if she wasn't exactly a hero, she _was_ invaluable. But there was no hint that Greg had survived. In the Real World or on the web-- no trace of him.

_My "value" might be only temporary,_ Gwen told herself, u_nless I can convince the higher-ups otherwise-- _She frowned as she watched the "Nit-Pickers" sift through yet another bucket of dirt from one of the campsites and began making plans for the future.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

The Speaker of the House had gladly been sworn in as President. Because he was of the opposite party to the late President's, he gleefully shoveled all the blame for the disaster on his political enemies. His opponents, terrified of being forced out of power, leaked the classified information about the threat of the Chinese submarines, and unreasoning threats and accusations began to fly thick and heavy over Washington. Business as usual-- just turned up several notches.

Relations with the Chinese turned brittle and painfully polite. They offered aid and assistance. They were turned down.

The Stock Market had dropped like a stone on the day of the bombings, and then, as the various vultures and hyenas in Armani suits swooped in to do some profit-taking, began a tenuous recovery. But not in time to save millions of people's investments and retirement funds.

The San Francisco Bay Area and a huge chunk of Northern California was a nightmare. The bombs, though of a type and usage that minimized fallout, had still covered hundreds of square miles with radioactive dust. Some of the richest and most productive farmland in the nation was downwind of the disaster area and clean-up efforts began immediately. It was miserable and dangerous work but thousands who had been rendered homeless and jobless by the attack lined up to shovel topsoil into lead-foil bags while wearing radiation suits and breathing equipment.

Even so, there were rumors of food rationing to come and almost everyone in the nation realized that life would not be easy for quite some time.

When Greg hadn't been heard from for over a month-- despite reported sightings in nearly every convenience store from Alaska to Florida-- Martial Law was lifted and things began to travel the long road back to some semblance of normalcy. People began to believe that the "Digimon Terrorist" had died in his mad attempt to escape.. But even if that were the case, things would never really be normal again.

Unknown thousands of digimon had spread out across the state before the bombs had fallen. Most of them had been beyond the effective range of the EMPs and had survived. At first the government treated them as a dire threat and urged arms manufactures to develop effective weapons against them that didn't require a massive explosion and appalling collateral damage. But it was soon realized that the best way to be safe from a digimon attack was not to attack _them_ in the first place. Unprovoked attacks by digimon were almost non-existent. They stole food and damaged crops, but didn't seem hostile toward humans in general-- unless they were attacked. _That_ they saw as an invitation to duel and, as they were creatures specifically designed for appallingly violent combat, they almost invariably won. The bigger ones could be picked off safely from a distance by anti-armor weaponry but most were human-sized or smaller and were difficult to locate.

Even the digimon who looked like cute little balls of fluff would suddenly spit buckshot, flames or poison gas if they felt threatened. After some ludicrously one-sided fights and a new series of laws rushed through the House and Senate, the official policy, which ran some 3700 pages in length, could be summed up in three words: _Leave them alone!_

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Melissa had loved camping out. But now, after having lived in a tent for nearly three months, she wasn't too keen on it. Her family had been evacuated from the Bay Area and relocated to the refugee camp at Redding. She slept in a tent, she ate in a Mess Tent, she attended Middle School in a tent-- she even showered in a tent. It was getting _old._

None of her old friends had ended up in the same camp and the local kids teased her and called her "City Girl" and "Spot" because of her freckles, so she spent most of her free time hiking and exploring the countryside. It wasn't even _nice_ countryside. Not like Yosemite or Big Basin where she had spent so many happy vacations with her family. Around the camp it was all flat, dusty agricultural land. There were some woodlots and down by the river there was a lot of greenery, but otherwise, it was pretty boring. But the alternative was to hang around in a _tent_ or be roped into helping out with the gardens or maintenance crews, so Melissa explored.

That day she was down by the river, watching some lazy brown fish lurk in the shade under the overhanging bank when she caught a motion out of the corner of her eye. An animal? She held still, hoping to see some wildlife bigger than one of the feral cats that hung around the camp. She saw it again-- something light-colored moving through the brush-- coming down to the river to drink, probably.

It finally emerged into clear view and Melissa saw that it was a dog. No, not a dog. It only _looked_ like a dog-- a cartoon version of a dog with an impossibly big head and eyes. A digimon.

Was this one of those dangerous things that had wrecked her town? But it was so cute and harmless looking! Melissa had been told over and over again to run away from any digimon she saw and never, for any reason, to approach or talk to one. But Melissa was a strong-willed and independent girl and, at the wise old age of 11, she was sure that she was smarter than any of the grown-ups she knew.

And it was _so_ cute!

"Hi," she called out in a soft voice after letting the little creature take a long drink from the river.

It started and snapped its head around, wary and ready to flee or fight.

"I won't hurt you," Melissa called again.

The digimon looked her up and down calmly and then replied, "No-- I doubt you _could_."

Melissa grinned. "You can talk! Do you want some food? What's your name? Where did you come from? What--"

"Wait, wait!" the little digimon interrupted her. "Go back to that part about _food_."

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Melissa had to keep her friend, Salamon, a secret. People wouldn't understand. She swiped extra food for her when she could and visited her as often as she could. Salamon seemed to enjoy Melissa's company just as much and had even sneaked into her tent on some nights and crouched under her cot for whispered conversations.

With a companion who made her feel safe, Melissa wandered even farther from the camp on her exploration hikes. One one of those extended walks she met two boys near her own age. Salamon hid herself in nearby bushes while Melissa talked to the boys. One was carrying a rifle and claimed he was going to shoot a digimon.

"You can't do that!" Melissa said, horrified by the idea.

"Sure I can!" he proudly proclaimed. I'm a good shot."

"That's not what I mean. It not--" she had been going to say "nice" but thought that the pugnacious-looking boy in front of her wouldn't care much about what was _nice_ or not. "It's not safe! They're dangerous."

"Yeah, Jacob," the younger of the two boys put in, "Dad says--"

"I don't _care_ what Dad says! That thing has been stealing our feed corn and I'm gonna shoot it!"

Melissa wheedled the details of the proposed digimon hunt out of the bigger boy. Something had been breaking into the feed silo and eating corn that was meant for the farm's animals. It always came at night and no matter how well the door was secured, it always managed to break through it. The boy intended to go out after dinner, wait in the cab of his father's pickup truck until the digimon showed itself, and then shoot it. It _would_ have been a good plan-- if digimon weren't practically bullet-proof-- and homicidal when angered.

"We've got to do something!" Melissa said to Salamon later.

The digimon shrugged, an odd motion for a puppy. "What can we do? You've got to get back to camp. It's getting late."

"No," Melissa shook her head. "I don't care if I get in trouble-- we're going to stop that boy from getting killed!"

"Alright. So what do we do?"

Melissa thought for several minutes. "I know! We need to find the digimon first and stop it from going to that farm. That boy said its tracks came up from the river, so--" She shaded her eyes and looked off at the farm in the distance. "--if we wait over _there_--"

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Melissa didn't know it, but the boy had gotten tired of waiting and had gone to bed. She was made of sterner stuff and was still keeping a lookout even though her eyes kept trying to close by themselves and it was getting harder and harder to hold her head up.

Salamon nudged her in the ribs. "Here it comes," she whispered.

The rush of adrenaline left Melissa wide awake. She peered out in the direction that Salamon was looking and saw a bright pink bird approaching. It was just as cartoony-looking as her friend.

"Stop!" Melissa called out to it. "Don't go any farther!"

The little bird _did_ stop. It jumped and faced her, eyes narrowing and beak opening in a threatening way. Suddenly, it didn't look so cute. "Get out of my way," it chirped at her.

"But there's a boy up there waiting to shoot you!" Melissa told it.

"Too bad for him, then," the bird said. "I hungry, and if he tries to stop me--"

"Please don't! I'll try and get you some food--"

"Pah! I can get my own food! Now get out of my way or--" its feathers fluffed up and its beak opened even wider.

"Don't you try it, Biyomon!" came Salamon's angry snarl. "She's trying to help you!"

Biyomon squawked in surprise, not having noticed the other digimon until then. The bird looked from the girl to the puppy and back again. "What's going on here? You're befriending humans? Are you crazy? Those things killed Greg!"

"Greg was a human, you bird-brain!"

"That's a stinking lie! You take that back!"

"He _was_ a human-- a good one, just like Melissa here. You shouldn't be hurting humans even if--"

But Biyomon was enraged and, like almost all digimon, anger turned immediately into action. It flew at Salamon, snapping with its sharp beak. Salamon dodged and bit at the bird's neck. They circled and charged each other, snapping, biting, hissing and growling as Melissa pleaded with them to stop.

Biyomon knew it was loosing the fight and in a move born of desperation, it made a feint at Melissa. When Salamon automatically moved to defend the girl, Biyomon used the opening to strike. It bit down savagely on Salamon's exposed neck and the puppy shrieked in pain.

Melissa acted without thinking. She had been one of her team's best soccer players and placed a kick in Biyomon's side that would have made it to the goal from half the field away. Biyomon landed in a heap and sqwaked in rage, leaping up with eyes blazing and no thought but to destroy the hated human who had delivered such an indignity.

Before it reached Melissa, Salmon used the last of her energy to leap in front of the girl and bark at the charging bird. To Melissa, the bark sounded like no more than the cry of a small angry dog. But she could see the ripples of energy in the air that emerged from Salamon's mouth and hit Biyomon, blasting the bird into a cloud of feathers that sparkled and dissolved into bright motes of energy.

Salamon absorbed the motes with a beatific smile on her face, then sighed and looked up as Melissa knelt down next to her.

"You saved me--" they both began at once and then chuckled together.

Salamon nuzzled under one of Melissa's hands and the girl obliged by stroking the digimon's head. "Thank you for being my friend," she said. "I hope--" She broke off because Salamon was trembling-- no-- shaking _violently_. "What's wrong? What's wrong, Salamon? Oh, please--"

The ground between the dog digimon's front paws began to churn and bubble. There was a sudden flash of light and when the spots in her eyes cleared, Melissa saw Salamon, seemingly fine but panting a bit. Between her front paws was a strange device with a pistol grip and several buttons.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Over the next year and a half the same scenario, with variations, played out all across the nation. People became friends with digimon despite the warnings and in may cases they became more than friends-- they became _partners_.

They all kept it secret, of course. Digimon were still viewed as hostile and dangerous by most people. But the tamers knew different. They and their partners defended towns and cities against marauding wild digimon in secret, waiting for the day that they knew in their hearts would come-- when everyone would see what a blessing digimon could be. They found each other by accident, or through subtle searches and began gathering in loose groups, planning for the day when they could openly declare themselves to their friends and families.

Then Greg returned and ruined everything.


	13. The Digimon Emperor

**Author's Note:**

** The unexpurgated version of this chapter is in the story: **_**An Extra Loop in the Snake.**_

* * *

Chapter 13  
The Digimon Emperor

Greg hadn't ever really gone away, of course. For the first few milliseconds after he entered the web he was just a mass of compressed data encapsulated in a smartpacket that searched for a suitable host computer. The Cray that controlled Lawrence-Livermore's National Ignition Facility was ideal. It was shielded and had survived the blasts in California but was idle due to the chaos in the state.

The packet triggered the decompression routine and, while Gwen was still diving for the floor in Nebraska, the supercomputer began modeling a small forest glade ringed with fruit trees and bordered by a crystal-clear stream of pure, cold water. An open, Japanese-style pavilion appeared in the glade and immediately thereafter, Renamon and Greg coalesced out of a bright cloud of particles.

"Whatever else might happen--" Renamon began but was interrupted by the thump of Greg's body hitting the polished wood floor of the pavilion.

"Greg!" she cried out and knelt beside him, pulling him into her lap. He was limp and his head lolled on one shoulder. Renamon could hear that he was breathing and his heart was beating but he didn't seem to have any control over his body. His eyes were open but unfocused. Renamon held his head up and stared into his eyes. "Greg, can you hear me?"

She felt a few twitches of his muscles but otherwise got no response. She held him, talking to him softly and stroking his hair, not knowing what else to do.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Sparkling lights and strange, random noises and smells were the first things that Greg was conscious of after entering the web. Strange chills and prickly sensations seemed to come and go on his skin-- even though he couldn't seem to feel the rest of his body. He told himself not to panic. He should have been in the little glade he'd manged to set up before Gwen had forced his hand, but instead--

Nothing made any sense. He didn't even seem to have a sense of time. How long had he been in this chaotic limbo? I could have been only a minute or it could have been-- forever? No, that couldn't be right, he remembered coming here with Renamon-- _Renamon._

He tried to call out to her but couldn't even hear his own voice. He fought back panic and tried calling again. And again.

How long had he been calling? He couldn't remember-- but the thought of Renamon was an anchor-- something to hold on to. He kept calling.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Greg, can you hear me?" Renamon asked again. She had gotten some water from the stream and dripped it into his mouth. He'd reflexively swallowed, which encouraged her. His body seemed to be fine. If only his mind--

"Ruhh--" Greg slurred out the sound, and Renamon knew what he was trying to say.

"Yes, Greg, I'm here! It's me, Renamon!"

"Reh--?"

She held his head in her hands and kissed him on the fore head. "Come back to me Greg."

And, slowly,-- he did.

The first thing that made any sense to him at all was the sound of her voice. After that, random blobs of color began to resolve themselves into recognizable shapes and he began to feel his body. It was quite a while before he could fully control himself and Renamon propped him up on some cushions and brought him water from the stream and fruit from the trees before he was able to walk by himself.

"What happened?" Renamon asked him when he was finally able to hold a coherent conversation. "I was so worried!"

Greg finished the sweet apple he had been eating and tossed the core out of the pavilion. I disappeared before it hit the ground. "I think it's an interface problem. Your brain is digital, so it has no problem interpreting a digital sim." He waved a hand, indicating their surroundings. "My brain is an analog, electro-chemical chunk of gray goo that's currently being _implemented_ by a digital system. It's used to organic input and had to learn how to interpret the new signals it's getting from my senses." He paused and frowned. "Damn, I hope I don't have to go through that again when we go back to the real world!"

"We _are_ going back, then?" Renamon asked.

He smiled and her and looked around at their surroundings. "After a while. It's peaceful and beautiful here and I want to just spend some time with you without worrying about the government or the army or assassins or--"

"I want her," Renamon said simply.

Greg looked at her. She wore her enigmatic expression but he thought he could see hot red anger behind her cool blue gaze. "Gwen?"

Renamon nodded. "She hurt you. She betrayed you. She would have gladly killed you." Little shadows played across her muzzle as her lips began to tense into the ghost of a snarl. "When we go back-- let me have her."

Gwen had just been doing her job. Greg knew that. He loyalty lay with her agency-- whichever one it was-- and with her country. Deception and even murder were part of her duties. But that didn't mean he had to like it.

"Alright-- if we see her again. But make it quick, will you?"

"I promise."

"Good. Now-- no more talk of unpleasant things," he said, pulling her down onto the cushions beside him. "Let's just relax and enjoy ourselves for a while."

Renamon snuggled into his arms and curled her long tail around him."Are you sure you're-- fully functional again?" There was a definite note of gentle teasing in her voice.

Greg smiled and kissed her gently. "Let's find out." He reached out with his mind. He knew just how their environment was designed and if he could only feel the right connection to the underlying code--

"Greg?" Renamon asked, puzzled by his sudden fierce concentration.

He said nothing for a moment and then a look of satisfaction swept over his face. He looked at Renamon and then at the sky. He made a little gesture with his left hand and the bright spring sunshine disappeared. Night came and the sky blazed with stars. The sound of nightingales came from the woods Another gesture and the pavilion filled with the warm glow of dozens of little lanterns and candles. The sweet smell of sandalwood incense flavored the air. From somewhere unseen, a soft, slow melody began to play.

Renamon stared around her in wonder.

"That's better," Greg said. "Now--" and he reached out for his lover.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Greg wasn't idle, even while spending long, wonderful days and nights with his partner. He set several plans in motion. First was the dispersal of the processing tasks for his little sim. The bombs in California had completely destroyed his original world because it was centered and dependent on one machine. Greg never made the same mistake twice. When he was finished, they were as safe as he could make them. The sim was spread so widely that it wouldn't be noticeable even on the smallest of computers. Greg was pretty sure that only an all-out nuclear war or the destruction of nearly every computer on the planet could harm them.

Next was the gateway. He wouldn't make the mistake of putting it anywhere it could be seen or attacked. That meant it had to be underground but Greg didn't like the idea of returning to the real world only to hide in a hole in the ground, so he came up with a compromise. He started the gateway growing just behind the ancient ruins of an Anasazi cliff dwelling that he had visited during college. It was nearly inaccessible and behind it was the Colorado Plateau, gigatons of solid sandstone-- room enough for a thousand underground secret bases. The ruins would provide him a hidden entrance and exit as well as a beautiful view of the wooded canyon they overlooked.

And last came his new digimon. He expanded the sim. The little glade was no longer the full extent of the Digital Dimension. It lay in a hanging valley over a wide plain of mixed grasslands and forests. New digimon of all types hatched out of the eggs that Greg brought out of nothingness. Not just the ones he needed for his campaign in the real world, but a full ecology of types and levels.

Renamon loved it. She happily returned to her old duties of moderator, judge, and peace-keeper, and the world prospered.

When the gate opened, Greg sent a Drimogemon and a few Digmon through to hollow out the rooms and tunnels of the base. He began to assemble the digimon and materials he would take through with him.

"It shouldn't be long now," he told Renamon. "Do you think the new Digital World will be able to get along without you for a while?"

"I-- I suppose so," she answered hesitantly.

"What is it?" he asked, surprised by the reluctant tone of her voice.

"Nothing," she said crisply, "you're my tamer and I go where you go."

He moved in front of her and stared directly into her eyes. "We're more than tamer and partner-- much more. Your happiness is important to me-- more important than anything else. Please," he raised one hand to stroke her cheek, "tell me what you're thinking."

"I'm just so happy here with you," she said nuzzling her cheek into his palm. "Your world-- the real world is-- ugly and dangerous. Do we really need to go back?"

He sighed and let his hand fall away. "I feel I have to. There are millions of people who have to be-- not _avenged_, no, I don't think vengeance does anything but breed more hatred and violence. But all those people-- I want their deaths to _mean_ something-- I want to make sure that something like that can never happen again."

Renamon gave a soft moan and sank to her knees. Greg dropped beside her, gripping her shoulders and peering desperately into her face. "Renamon, what's wrong?" He had never seen her cry. He didn't know if she could. But he knew by the soft, keening noises she was making that she was desperately unhappy. He hugged her tightly and stroked her head making comforting sounds and saying, "It's alright, it's alright," over and over again.

"No!" Renamon pushed him roughly away but didn't rise. She supported herself on her hands and hung her head low, refusing to look at him. "It's _not_ alright! Greg, don't you realize it even now? It was _my_ fault all those people died! It wasn't you or the digimon the government wanted to destroy. The bombs fell in the two places where I changed the world! I carelessly used the power you gave me and all those people died because of it!"

"No! NO! It was _not_ your fault!" Greg yelled at her. He grabbed her by the shoulders and roughly swung her around to face him. He used one had to force her chin up so that she had to look him in the eyes. "They kidnapped me and you did your best to prevent it! You came and rescued me when the army was closing in! You saved me when Gwen was going to shoot me full of some damned chemical. You stopped me from making a big, big mistake with her-- _everything_ you did was good."

She tried to shake her head but Greg tightened the grip on her chin and leaned in closer. "The power to remake things was something _I_ gave to you. And I made it so you would use it reflexively-- almost unconsciously. You just did what I _wanted_ you to. So am _I_ to blame for all those deaths?"

"No!" she said in a shocked voice. "You never meant for that to happen! How could you--"

"No, I didn't," he interrupted her. "I didn't know it would happen. I didn't _intend_ for it to happen--" He gave her chin a shake to emphasize his next words, "--and neither did _you! _You are _not_ to blame. _They_ are. The government, the military, the whole system that could make a decision to murder millions of people just because they were frightened of something they didn't understand!"

She stared at him for a while and then said, "That's not all. I wanted more than the little world you first made. I wanted to see new lands-- and that's when they started appearing. I must have started-- everything."

Greg shook his head. "You might as well blame the guy who came up with the original card game or TV series. An innocent desire for wider horizons? That hardly makes you guilty of mass murder. Right up until the missiles launched, anyone who had the chance to say, 'no, I'm not going to help kill all those people,' and didn't take it-- _they_ are the guilty ones."

Greg released her and stood up. Renamon didn't rise but kept her gaze on him. "I intend to make sure that nothing like that ever happens again. I want to make sure that those people are stripped of their power. And if they resist--" he shrugged. "But I want you to be happy more than anything else. If you want to stay here and rule this place for me, I'll be-- happy for you. And I'll come back to you when I've finished what I have to do."

"I don't want to be parted from you, Greg," Renamon said quietly.

He sighed and reached down and pulled her to her feet. "Then I'll stay here with you. I'll give up on my plans and let the real world go to hell in whatever way it wants to."

She hugged him tightly and kissed him and they walked down the valley together to watch the sunset. They made love under the stars and then returned to their pavilion and settled onto the silk sheets of their bed. She rested her head on his chest and said quietly, "If I made you stay, you'd always wonder what you could have done. Each disaster or war that happened-- you'd wonder if you couldn't have prevented it." He started to speak but she place a finger on his lips. "No-- you'll go, and I'll go with you. And when we've changed the world we will come back here-- or go to some other place. But we will be together. Always."

They lay together then without speaking, listening to each other breathing, until sleep took them.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Greg suffered some disorientation when they crossed over into the real world but it was over in a few minutes.

He got to work immediately. The first phase of his plan involved digimon training and information gathering. Both went badly. He'd never been interested in warfare, military history or even guns, and so was unprepared to learn exactly how many nuclear weapons were in the world. The realization that there were enough nukes on the planet to destroy every decent-sized city a dozen times over came as a real shock to him. Everything from ICBM's to artillery-fired battlefield nukes. Thousands and thousands of them in the US alone and hundreds aboard hard-to-reach submarines. He'd have to strike at them all simultaneously or risk another, probably larger, eruption of atomic weaponry. That meant that his digimon troops would have to be numerous and very well trained, disciplined, and coordinated.

They were hopeless.

They were instinctively individual fighters and only had the sketchiest notions of teamwork and cooperation. They also had the attention span of a five-year-old on a sugar high. After months and months of training, they were only just barely trustworthy to operate on their own.

Greg sent out squads on practice missions. Half of the digimon didn't come back. They lost interest or got distracted by something and simply wandered off. Some squads dissolved into squabbling fights among themselves.

Greg, in desperation, tried to create more tractable digimon. That's didn't go too well, either. He got creatures that were useless for fighting-- near mindless robots who would do exactly what they were told but nothing else. He let the other digimon use them for target practice and tried another approach.

He created subroutines that attached themselves to his digimon troops. They were fairly simple, just recordings of mission goals that replayed themselves into the consciousness of the digimon and gave them a mild, pleasant stimulus when they were cooperating and a mild, increasing to severe, negative feedback when they strayed from their orders.

Greg finished the coding and had the first squad march into and out of the gate in order to attach the new program. When the digimon reemerged from the vortex of the gate, Greg got a bit of a shock. Digimon were just the physical embodiment of computer code, so it made sense that the add-on code would also manifest itself physically, and it did.

It manifested itself as black metal rings around the necks of Greg's troops.

"Huh," Greg exclaimed quietly. The digimon patiently waited for his orders. He thought about trying again with different code but the months of frustrating failures weighed heavy on him, so he finally decided to send them out on a test mission as they were. He glanced at his watch as they disappeared up one of the long tunnels to a distant surface exit. It was getting late and Renamon would be waiting for him.

He made his way out to the ruins. One of the cliff dwellings had been cleaned and furnished and Renamon and he had fallen into the habit of meeting there to eat a light supper and relax after the stresses of the day.

"Is something wrong?" Renamon asked him after they had finished their meal. "You've been very quiet."

"I just have a lot to think about," he replied. He stood and looked out over the canyon which glowed crimson in the last rays of the setting sun.

"Can I help?" she asked coming to stand behind him and wrap her arms around him.

"No, I--" he paused and chuckled. "Well, maybe. Do you think I ought to get myself a cape and a pair of funky glasses?"

Renamon peered around his shoulder at him. _This must be one of his subtle jokes,_ she thought, and responded as she always did to humor she didn't understand: She took him seriously. After a moment's consideration she said, "I think you would look good in a cape."


	14. Crossing the Rubicon

Chapter 14  
Crossing the Rubicon

The problem with the black rings is that they worked perfectly. Greg tried a few other approaches to the problem but none of them worked anywhere near as well. He tried to change the appearance of the rings. If he altered the code of the rings enough, they _did_ change appearance-- but then they didn't function. Finally, he admitted that he was only attacking a symptom-- a symbol of what was really bothering him.

_It's not like I'm trying to take over the world, _Greg told himself._ The rings don't _enslave_ the digimon, they just keep them focused on the mission. When this is all over, I'll remove the rings and they can all go back to the Digital Dimension-- and I'll make it bigger and better than ever as a reward for them._

But he was still uneasy about it.

As a distraction, he tried to find out why non-specific code always manifested itself as something recognizable from the digimon videos or manga. He failed at that, too.

He began taking long hikes out into the surrounding desert or down into the narrow canyon instead of working on the specifics of his plan. He realized that he was stalling-- delaying the day when he would have to commit himself and his digital troops to the all-or-nothing attack. But he couldn't seem to force himself to concentrate on anything. After more that a week of limbo, when his digimon stood ready for orders that never came, Renamon appeared beside Greg where he sat on the canyon's rim, tossing small pebbles over the edge.

She didn't say anything but sat down beside him and then lay down, putting her head in his lap. He absently stroked her back as he continued to gaze down into the shadowed depths.

"I can't find any way around it," he said a low voice. "If I want to do this thing, I'm going to have to kill a lot of people-- people who never did me any harm. A lot of them-- hell, maybe even _most_ of them-- are probably good people despite the jobs they're doing."

Renamon lay quietly, letting him speak in his own time. She knew she was the only one he could really talk to-- and that he desperately _needed_ to talk.

"The silos are no problem. They're built to withstand the violence of a launch and when the missiles collapse, they won't do any damage. The smaller missiles and munitions are more problematic-- radiation will certainly be a problem but the military is equipped to deal with it. Some people will probably die in those situations but I can fool myself into thinking that it's unlikely." Greg sighed and picked up another pebble. "It's the submarines that-- well, getting to them is a big enough problem but I can open an underwater gate and bring through enough MegaSeadramon easily enough. I'll just wait until I'm sure they've located every sub and then--" He tossed the pebble into the canyon. He heard it clack against the wall twice on the way down but never heard the final impact.

"All the crews will be killed, won't they?" Renamon said.

"If I'm so fucking smart," Greg half-snarled, "why can't I find a way around it?"

Renamon lifted her head and turned to face him. "If you can't see a way, it's because there _isn't_ any."

"So-- should I give up? Push the big red self-destruct button on the base and run off to the Digital Dimension with you? It doesn't seem like such bad an idea, now."

Renamon pushed herself into a sitting position. "I've been learning more about the world and humans while you worked. Sometimes it's still hard for me to understand individuals but as for people as a whole-- as armies and governments-- there are patterns-- _constants_."

Greg was surprised. He hadn't had any clue that she'd been doing something like that. But he had been shutting out so much in the past month-- and she obviously had something important to say. "And--?"

"They won't leave us in peace, Greg." She said with her eyes downcast. "Their technology will get better and better. Soon, now that they know it's possible, they'll be able to create digimon of their own. Or something _like_ digimon but more-- _terrible_. Or they'll figure out how to detect and block the programs that sustain my-- _our_ world. Whichever way it happens, they _will_ destroy us."

As soon as she'd spoken the words he knew it was true. And that made his decision easy. It was no longer a choice between war and retreat. It was a matter of survival. And when it was his life and Renamon's against those of the crews of all the nuclear subs in the world-- two versus hundreds-- thousands, maybe-- no, it wasn't a simple matter of numbers. Greg knew he could make a better world. One without the threat of near-instant annihilation hanging over it. And with the transformative power that Renamon controlled he could make deserts bloom and purify the air and water and-- he could _atone_ for the deaths he would cause. Atone with real, concrete deeds, not the twisted logic and rationalizations that were spewed across the media by the self-serving politicians who were complicit in the murder of _millions_.

He rose suddenly to his feet and brushed the red dust of the desert off his pants. He held out a hand to Renamon who still sat, looking uncertainly up at him. "C'mon Renamon, we've got work to do!"

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Under control of the dark rings, Greg needed much fewer digimon than he had originally estimated. Within two weeks of making his decision to go forward with the plan, everything was ready. He stood at the huge computer control console that stretched between two Datamon who were half-embedded in the rock walls of the deepest cavern of his base. The enormous wall screen displayed a map of the world, a bright red dot indicating each and every nuclear weapon on the Earth. Even with the comforting blue dot near each red one, indicating a team of Greg's digimon, the sheer number of them sent a cold, crawling sensation down his spine.

His guts knotted as he flipped the switch on the console that made the connection to his headset microphone. Renamon stood beside him and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. He gave her a sickly smile and a tiny nod of thanks before he spoke the irrevocable words that would be relayed to his troops, world-wide:

"Digimon-- _attack!_"

There was nothing else to do but wait for things to go wrong. He had dozens of squads of digimon in reserve, ready to fill in if they were needed-- but he wouldn't know much of anything for a while. He flipped the microphone off and watched the screen as a few drops of cold sweat made their way down the back of his neck.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

An hour later Martial Law was in effect in the United States and similar states of emergency were declared in every nation on earth that possessed nuclear weapons. A Presidential order was issued that all digimon were to be shot on sight-- which usually caused the death of the soldiers attempting to carry it out.

When the last, stubbornly resisting red light on the screen winked out, Greg thought he should feel some sort of relief, maybe even a sense of accomplishment. What he felt was nauseous. But the day was not yet over. Greg had wisely prerecorded the statement that the Datamon would feed into the media streams. The message delivered by satellite, cable, radio, and web in hundreds of languages would come from a self-possessed and confident-seeming young man instead of from a pale, shaking figure who, at the moment, looked years older than he really was.

The message was phrased as well as Greg could manage and couched in reassuring, even comforting terms but the gist was simple: All nuclear weapons world-wide have been destroyed. What happened last year in the US will never happen again. No further hostile action will be taken unless I am attacked. For those who were killed today, I am truly sorry. I will do my best to make up for those deaths. Soon I will show you what wonders I can accomplish for you all.

Greg sent the message and then shut down the computer console. "There. Now we wait and see." Renamon hugged him tightly and he mustered enough energy to give her a brief squeeze in return.

"Do you want some food? You haven't eaten all day," she asked.

"No, I'm tired. I just want to sleep."

They went to their bedroom and curled up together. Greg stared at the ceiling for several hours before he managed to drift off. Renamon held him, listening to his heartbeat until it finally slowed, then she allowed herself to sleep.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Greg was woken by Renamon who was standing beside the bed holding a Demidevimon in a painfully tight grip.

Greg blinked the sleep from his eyes and looked at her and then the little digimon. "What's with him?" he asked.

Renamon's grip covered the squirming little digimon's mouth and he seemed to be having difficulty breathing. "He entered without knocking."

"Ah-- well, I suppose he must have had a good reason," he turned his gaze to the Demidevimon, "didn't you?"

The little creature's head and body were one spherical shape, so he couldn't even nod. He had to make do with a muffled, "Mmh-hmn" sound.

"Let him go, Renamon."

"Whew! *cough* Oh, man! I just wanted to let you know there's news, boss!" the Demidevimon told him, glaring as much as he dared at Renamon. "I wanted to tell you right away so maybe I forgot--"

Greg waved away his apology. "What's the news?"

"Uhm-- it ain't exactly _good_ news."

"Just spit it out," Greg snapped impatiently, "or do you want me to have Renamon _squeeze_ it out of you?"

"They-- uh, the humans, that is," Demidevimon stammered out, nervously, "they sorta-- well-- declared _war_ on you." He crouched down and cringed as if expecting a blow.

"_God,_ I hate mornings," Greg sighed and then added to the little digimon who was still looking uneasily up at him through one eye nearly squinted shut, "Thank you for bringing me the message as quickly as possible. Just-- remember to knock next time."

Demidevimon gave a sigh of relief. "Sure, boss! I won't forget!"

Surprisingly, Greg actually felt a lot better once he'd had the chance to wake up completely. "Breakfast first, I think!" he said cheerfully to the Bokomon who served as his secretary and general aid as they walked along the corridor to the control room. "A nice, big omelet for me and for Renamon--?"

"Roasted Demidevimon," she grumbled.

"Make that _two_ omelets, Bokomon," Greg chuckled. "Don't hold a grudge, Renamon! He was just a little too eager--"

"It's not _him_ I'm really angry at," Renamon fumed. "It's the humans! Declare _war_ on you? Such hypocrites! The day before yesterday, if you'd asked any one of them if they would like to see all the Earth's nuclear weapons vanish, not one of them would have said 'no!' They're ungrateful, illogical, and--"

Greg placed a hand on her shoulder, stopping her rant. "And they're probably frightened to death. We need to show them that the worst is over. When they see what we can do for them, they'll calm down and we can negotiate. You'll see."

And that was an important difference between Greg and Renamon. She _knew_ she didn't understand humans all that well. Greg mistakenly thought he _did_.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

"They're ungrateful, stupid,_ destructive, MORONS!" _Greg shouted, throwing a coffee cup at the video screen. The ceramic cup hit the crystal digimite screen and shattered, leaving the screen untouched except for the light smear of coffee that dripped slowly down one side.

The digimon in the control room went very quiet and tried hard to avoid Greg's notice.

"I made them a paradise and they _destroyed_ it!" He waved at the images of smoking craters and burning palm trees that flickered across the screen. Large swaths of green grass and flowering shrubs remained but were rapidly being churned to bits under the treads of the armored vehicles that rolled across what had recently been the barren, hard-baked earth of the Northern Mojave Desert.

"Why did they do it?" Greg asked, his anger slowly draining away. "The first bombings at the periphery, I can understand, but after the reaction had stopped-- after the oasis had quit growing--" he shook his head in frustration. "All that pure water-- and food free for the taking--" As if on cue, a blazing date palm, its heavy load of fruit sizzling, fell into the slurry of mud that had once been a pond of crystal-clear water.

Greg took several deep breaths to calm himself. "Okay, okay, I _knew_ this wasn't going to be easy. We'll just try again. And again and again, if we have to! I'll jam beauty, peace, and prosperity down their throats if they won't take it any other way! Eventually they'll get tired of _wrecking_ it all-- " Greg sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to hold off the tension headache he felt coming on, and in a much softer voice added, "--I _hope_."

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Greg tried two more transformations in different parts of the country. Each time he created just what the local residents always said they would love to see or have. Each time the military moved in and scoured the ground clean. Once it was discovered that simple extreme heat or cold would stop whatever it was that disassembled and reassembled the molecules of the landscape, ordinary citizens fought off the changes with weed-burners, welding torches, and CO2 fire extinguishers.

Greg sent several messages to various governments, pleading for reason and detailing all the benefits he could offer them. The responses were all variations on the same theme: Surrender. _Then_ we'll talk.

He kept teams of his digimon scouring the planet, searching for hidden threats and found several. Many governments tried to set up hidden arms factories to build more nuclear weapons. Others worked on different exotic weapons, some were clever ways to generate large EMPs, some were based on the mistaken assumption that because heat and cold affected the transformative fronts, they would also work well on digimon. Greg destroyed them all.

Greg sent out more messages and they were ignored by almost everyone. Anybody who dared to suggest that there might be merit in negotiation was shouted down or denounced as a traitor to humankind. The only disagreement under public debate was exactly _how_ he and his monsters should be killed.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Maybe we should try something more subtle," Greg mused as he poked at the uneaten steak on his plate one evening at dinner. "Or maybe I should just learn to laugh maniacally, and start leveling cities." He looked up to gauge Renamon's reaction. She was wearing her enigmatic face. "It was a joke," he explained.

"Which part?" she asked.

Greg sighed and dropped his fork to his plate with a clatter. "They're only destroying the new creations because they know they come from _us._ They think they're traps or-- or-- I don't know-- _tainted_ somehow. If we change things they won't immediately notice-- let them get used to it and then reveal we're responsible-- that would change their minds, right?" He hurried on without letting her answer. "Maybe some new springs of water in the West where it's needed so badly? We could seed them along the rivers and let set them to increase over time. Yeah, I'll send out some squads to scout for good locations in the morning."

To Renamon, he seemed happier when he left the table. But he still hadn't eaten his steak.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Two days later, Greg and Renamon strolled along the banks of the Sacramento River, pausing every once in a while to let Renamon bend down and touch the ground. Everywhere she placed her hand a small trickle of pure water bubbled up from the earth.

"When we finish here," Greg said to her as he checked his map, "We'll go over to the San Joaquin, East of Modesto and--"

"Stop right there!" Came a determined, but somewhat high and squeaky voice.

"Huh?" Greg folded the top half of his map down to reveal a group of small children lined up in front of him. And beside each one of them was-- a digimon.

"What-- who the hell are you and what are you doing here?" He demanded.

A lanky young girl with long red hair and a truly amazing amount of freckles took one step forward along with her Salamon partner and said in the same squeaky voice that had halted him, "We're the Digidestined and we're here to stop you!"

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

**1) Don't ask me why, but MegaSeadromon are **_**Ultimate**_** level digimon, **_**not**_** Megas. **

**2) No, Greg did not **_**really**_** install a self-destruct button in his base. He was indulging in a bit of black humor.**


	15. First Blood

**Author's Note:**

** The unexpurgated version of this chapter is in the story: **_**An Extra Loop in the Snake.**_

* * *

Chapter 15  
First Blood

"Digi-- _destined_?" Greg gaped at the children barring his way. "You've got to be kidding me! Look, it's nice that you kids made friends with some digimon. I'm glad-- _really_. But you could get hurt--"

"_You're_ the one who's going to get hurt," Melissa told him, "Or you can surrender if you want."

That's when Greg saw the goggles. Melissa had hung them around her neck because they fogged up when she wore them over her eyes or slipped off her glossy hair when she tried to use them as a headband. It was just too much for Greg and he began to laugh.

Oh god, you're _serious_! Oh, I-- hahaha! I-- you--" and he broke off into howls of laughter. His laughs shook him so much he had to use one hand to steady himself against Renamon's shoulder.

Nobody else was laughing. Melissa was scowling as fiercely as possible for a 13-year-old girl. She unsnapped her digivice from her belt. When Greg saw it, he stopped laughing. "What? Where the hell did you get _that?_"

"All of us tamers have one," she replied coldly as she raised the device. There were clicks of carabiners, rips of velcro, and pops of snaps as all of the kids readied their digivices.

"HOW _DARE_ YOU!" Renamon roared. The sudden violence of her scream of rage made everyone jump, including Greg. They saw she was addressing the digimon, not their tamers. "He is your _creator!_ How can you _betray_ him like this?"

The digimon had the good graces to look at least a little bit embarrassed. Melissa stepped forward. "Maybe he is-- but he made them fight just for _entertainment_. Then _you_ brought them into our world where everyone was against them and just when we thought people might be going to accept them-- _he_ went and started a war!"

Salamon took a step forward to be with her tamer. "Our loyalty is to our _tamers _now. When we saw Greg's scouts here yesterday we knew he was up to something bad and we've come to stop him."

Renamon's fists squeezed down into tight, hard masses making the leather of her arm-guards creak. "You miserable little chunk of corrupt data! You should thank him for--"

"No, Renamon," Greg interrupted her, "we don't have time to argue with a bunch of rogue digimon." He waved a dismissive gesture at the group. "Delete them but don't hurt the kids."

They were just a few children and their Rookie digimon-- but they were also tamers and partners who had been fighting wild digimon for nearly a year. Greg and Renamon were more powerful, there was no doubt about that, but the children had the advantage of numbers and, more importantly, hard-won experience. Greg had never used his digivice in a real fight.

The clatter of plastic triggers being pulled filled the air. Energy crackled and cute little Rookie digimon became fearsome-looking Champions in an instant. Others blurred and changed as speed, strength, or weapon modifiers charged them. Greg was definitely not laughing then. He belatedly fumbled for his digivice as Renamon charged directly into the mass of enemies facing her.

Greg had no time to pull up stats on _any_ of his opponents, let alone all of them. He was familiar with some of the types and their weaknesses but others were unknown to him. He'd just have to fight blind-- and certainly unprepared: The battle screen showed all of his cards slots to be empty. He fumbled through the menus of cards as blasts and impacts cracked through the air.

_Where is that damned blue card?_ He thought desperately. He had just found it when he heard a heavy impact and Renamon slid by him, plowing up the sandy ground of the riverbank. She was on her feet again almost instantly, leaping back into the fray but she was frazzled and injured-- no longer moving with her usual blinding speed.

Greg frantically clawed at his digivice and a card popped into the ready slot. But it was the wrong one. His finger had slipped in his haste and he'd selected a Damage Recovery card-- useful, but obviously a tactic that would only prolong the fight: Renamon was getting _hammered_. He triggered it anyway and then tried to re-select the blue card. It finally popped into the ready slot and he looked up for his partner.

Gatomon was forcing her back, slashing fistfuls of white fur from Renamon's chest and belly with every swipe of her razor claws. From one side, Veemon was charging in, going for a Vee-Headbutt and from the other side two more digimon that Greg didn't recognize were circling to attack Renamon's unprotected back. She was in deep trouble.

Greg pulled the trigger and Kyuubimon burst out of the whirling vortex of energy, screaming with rage. She slammed Gatomon back with a swipe of her head and cow-kicked Veemon end-over-end, but the two digimon that had nearly gotten behind her were able to get their attacks in on her open flank.

The reddish half-weasel, half-wolf one only got in one savage bite before Kyuubimon shook him off, but the other one that looked vaguely like a blue Ogremon struck her with a massive club of ice that knocked the wind out of her and made her stagger several steps to the side.

Greg glanced at his digivice again. There had to be something he could do to help her! But he saw that the energy bar had been reduced to 12%. He didn't know the cards well enough to know what he could get for so little that would do any good. He looked up again just as Kyuubimon took another savage club blow to the neck that interrupted her as she was raising energy for a Fox Tail Inferno attack. She screamed in pain and the ghostfire of her tails flickered and dimmed.

"Kyuubimon! Here! To me!" He yelled at her. He knew enough to see that she was loosing and that meant their only option was--

Kyuubimon cleared her opponents with one arching leap and Greg swung himself astride her shoulders. "Run!" Greg told her, "Get away!"

"No! I can--"

"_Do it, damnit!_" Greg yelled, and kicked her flanks like he would have done with a horse. She fled.

The tamers hadn't expected the fight to go as well as it did for them and were totally unprepared for Greg's retreat. There was confusion for only a few seconds as things got sorted out but by then they had lost the opportunity to run him down. Even injured, Kyuubimon was still a match for almost all of their digimon in a race.

Melissa watched her team's digimon return to their tamers and looked down joyfully into Gatomon's grinning face as she shook off her Champion form and became Salamon again.

"We won!" shouted a chunky blond boy as he swung Veemon up into the air with overflowing exuberance.

"Yes," said a soft-spoken, dark-haired girl as her Fangmon curled around her affectionately, "but they got away."

"Yeah," admitted Melissa as she lifted Salamon into her arms, "but _next_ time they won't"

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Greg was, by turns, ashamed, embarrassed and furious. "I got my ass handed to me by a pack of _children!_" he fumed, pacing the length of the control room back at the base. "Even worse, I dropped the damned map and now the Army Corps of Engineers is out there filling all of those new springs with concrete!" He gestured to the monitors. "Look, they're even sampling the water like they think I put poison in it or something!"

He realized he was ranting to no purpose. Only he and Kyuubimon were in the room and they both knew well enough what had happened.

Kyuubimon said nothing-- she just watched Greg as he paced.

Bokomon peeked around the edge of the door. "Sir? Will you be wanting dinner?"

Greg spun on on heel but stopped himself from yelling at the little digimon. _He_ hadn't done anything wrong, after all. "Maybe later."

"I could leave some cold meat and cheese in the--"

Kyuubimon rose to her feet and stepped to Greg's side. She bent her neck until her nose was nearly touching the floor and pressed the top of her head against Greg's hip. "Go away, Bokomon," she said softly.

"Yes Ma'am-- sorry Ma'am," and he ducked out of sight.

Greg slipped his arms around Kyuubimon's neck and leaned over, resting his chest and head on the soft cushion of her thick mane. "And worst of all," he sighed unhappily, "I failed _you_."

"What?" cried Kyuubimon, shaking off his embrace so that she could look him in the face. "_I_ was the one fighting--"

"We're a _team_," he interrupted her, "and my part is just as important as yours. You fought magnificently! One Champion against four? Plus another three energized Rookies? You did everything you could. It was _me_-- _I_ screwed up. I've never properly trained with you and I wasn't prepared for even the _possibility_ of a digimon attack."

"I don't blame you. How could you have known--"

"Well, I know _now!_ And _next_ time I'll be ready." He took her head in his hands and pressed his forehead against hers, closing his eyes. "_We_ will be ready, I promise you," he whispered. "No more screwing around-- we'll train every day-- we'll hunt down those damned, traitorous digimon and you'll upload their data until you're stuffed full. And no more messing around with little parks and pools-- we'll start some _major_ changes-- things too big to stop!"

He lifted his head and opened his eyes. "What do you think?"

For an answer, she kissed him fiercely and joyously.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

The next few months were very busy ones for Greg and Renamon. He made plans, did research, and restructured the base's defenses with a far different enemy in mind. Renamon scouted locations for their next "events" and patrolled for hostile digimon, mostly in her Champion body. She made contact with wild digimon and got what information she could from them about the numbers and locations of tamers. Sometimes they willingly told her what they knew, sometimes they resisted.

And every spare moment, they trained. Greg got to the point where he knew the card menus so well he could sometimes select the ones he wanted with his eyes closed. He knew exactly how much energy each one cost and what the best combinations were against various opponents. They fought against real opponents, too-- digimon controlled by the black rings would attack fiercely and without restraint if ordered to do so.

Then the day came when Greg's first new plan was ready to be put into execution. They traveled the first part of their journey via the Digital World, emerging from a computer in a Doctors Without Borders aid station near Kasr, Egypt in the early evening. They slipped out of the compound and into the surrounding desert, meeting with a group of digimon that had been dispatched earlier, for the second leg of their journey.

The Pteramon flew low over the dessert to avoid being seen or detected on radar even though Southwest Egypt was one of the most deserted and desolate places on Earth. Their goal was near the border with Sudan and the region was famous for sudden, vicious little wars. The locals were trigger-happy and Greg didn't want to spoil the event with fighting.

They reached the mountains of the Gilf Kebir in less than an hour and swooped in for a landing. Greg hopped down, ran his fingers through his disheveled hair, and tried to wrench his clothes back into some semblance of order.. _Note to Self, _he thought, _Get a helmet and flight suit before riding on the back of a jet-powered dinosaur again._

Renamon simply shook herself briefly and all her fur settled back into its usual sleekness.

"Alright," Greg said, unfolding a small map. "We start here and work our way along the foothills--" he lowered the map and peered into the distance. There was just enough moonlight to make out a distant peak. "--that way. Do your thing, lover!"

Renamon bent and touched the ground. The sands of the Sahara began to ripple and churn.

They moved through the desert, stopping every mile for Renamon to trigger the start of another couple of transformations. They had learned that the changes she triggered were limited. They could only transform around a hundred square miles of land at most-- less if there were a lot of features that soaked up the energy. But she could direct the shape of the changes and to maximize the area they could effect in one night, she was starting long, narrow strips starting from the path they were taking that rippled out into the distance. By doing this, they were transforming an area of the desert about two hundred miles long. The width of the area was only limited by how long Renamon could keep triggering changes.

The sky began to lighten in the East and she still didn't seem to be tiring.

"Better than I could have hoped for!" Greg grinned as he looked back at the way they'd come. The previously bare, mountains were clothed in a dense forest. Cedars and firs covered the upper slopes and oaks and fruit trees further down. The open meadows and glades were ringed with berry bushes and all manner of edible plants, filling the air with heavy, sweet scents. Waterfalls cascaded down the jagged cliffs and made the dry ravines into swiftly flowing rivers filled with fish. A landscape that had not known more than a dozen rainfalls in the last century had become a lush, green eden. Already the valley below was filling. In a few days it would be a large lake and the water would flow out the other side and into the desert-- making for oases even beyond the bounds of what they'd directly created.

"We can probably cover another twenty miles or so before it gets too light. I don't want to risk getting spotted by a satellite," Greg said, glancing at his watch. "You're not getting tired of carrying me, are you?"

"I'm not tired at all, Greg. What about you?"

"Me neither. In fact, I feel-- I don't know-- is 'exhilarated' the word I'm looking for? Just _look_ at all that! There's no _way_ they'll be able to ruin it. They'd go broke in a week paying for the bombs, napalm, and jet fuel if they tried!

For once, Greg's optimism was justified. The Egyptians didn't even _try_ to erase the new landscape. They _did_ try to keep everyone out of the area but it was simply too large to patrol effectively. At first it was a few curious tourists and their guides who had come to see the Cave of the Swimmers. Then, as the news spread, the more adventurous (or desperate) types made their way to the new land overflowing with food and water.

The United States offered the Egyptian military tankers full of Agent Orange, but as the herbicide couldn't be gotten to the area before hundreds, perhaps thousands of civilians had taken up residence, and Egypt politely declined the offer.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Bokomon set a tray of sushi down on the table between Renamon and Greg. As usual, Renamon scooped up all the inarizushi in one huge hand and began popping then into her mouth the way a person might do with popcorn kernels. Greg picked up a piece of unagi and chewed it while scrolling through newscasts on his little notebook computer.

"How are things going, Sir?" Bokomon asked.

"Pretty good," Greg said in a tone of voice that only betrayed a little bit of surprise."Oh, they're still a _long_ way from electing me King o' the World, but at least there are some people who are actually wondering out loud if this is such a bad thing. And a couple even said that maybe I'm not such a _thoroughly_ evil villain after all."

Bokomon was shocked. "You're not a villain at all, Sir! You're only doing good things for people and digimon alike!"

Greg nodded and took another piece of sushi. "Thanks for the vote of confidence. Maybe you should tell that to--" he scrolled down the dozens and dozens of articles and videos that were still howling for his blood. "--how about Greenpeace? They say I've '_...destroyed a fragile and unique desert ecosystem_.' Or Al Jazeera-- they're accusing me of '_...insidious Cultural Imperialism..._' Huh-- I wonder how they came up with _that?"_

"I'm sure they will eventually realize that the world will be a much better place if they elect you King!" Bokumon said with conviction.

Greg spit out his mouthful of sushi. "What!? *cough* No, no, Bokomon, I was only kidding about that. _Ghod_-- King o' the World? What a miserable job _that_ would be! I just want to make the world better-- a place where people don't have to be afraid or hungry or miserable-- where there won't be any reasons to ever go to war again."

"I don't see how anyone could object to that!"

Greg sighed again, watching more stories scroll by on the screen. "Yeah-- but it seem like damned near everyone _does_. I guess I'm just going to have to try harder to convince them. Time to bring it closer to home, I think."


	16. Close to Home

Chapter 16  
Close to Home

Of the three generals that stood before the President's desk in the Oval Office, two were career military men from military families. The third had never even considered a military career and had always held the armed forces in a vague contempt as tools of last resort, when she thought of them at all. But, thanks to the President's orders under the Digital Emergency Powers Act, she now was under direct military command as part of the command structure and-- more importantly-- subject to military control and, if necessary, military _justice_.

Brigadier General Gwendolyn Sundstrom resisted the urge to tug at the tight collar of her uniform for the tenth time since she had entered the President's office. "Mr. President, Greg _is _naive and inexperienced but he is very far from stupid. General Whitson's plan is only--"

"I think," General Whitson interrupted her, "that, as someone who let him escape _twice_, your estimation of his--"

"I've predicted what he's done more accurately than the gang of psychiatrists and behavioral experts from--"

"Generals!" the President snapped. They fell silent. "General Sundstrom, your approach to the problem is-- _creative_, I'll give you that. But it's too uncertain and, frankly, _bizarre_ for me feel confident of its success. You will return to your command and continue to train your troops." there was just the hint of a snort of derision from Whitson at the uses of the word and the President rebuked him with a glance. "I will hold them in reserve in case other methods fail."

Gwen simply said, "Yes sir." She knew that showing any hint of anger or further argument would only give Whitson and Greenwaldt pleasure.

"General Greenwaldt," the President said, "Has your unit come up with any further information which would be helpful?"

"We have finally gotten data on the actual physical structure of digimon and it's clear now why they are so difficult to kill." He placed a diagram on the President's desk. "On the right is the structure of a common protein that is present in most animals: A simple chain of carbon atoms with a few other atoms attached. On the left--"

"It looks like something _engineered_." the President said in surprise. "Like a building girder or something."

"'Engineered' is a good word for it." Greenwaldt agreed. "That interlocking structure of carbon molecules is what digimon use for proteins. They're very similar to the super-strong carbon nanotubes that scientists have been trying to manufacture in quantity for some time-- only stronger and more flexible. Digimon are _made_ of the stuff."

"Will this effect General Whitson's plan?"

"No sir. Their bodies would have to be a lot stronger to make any difference to the plan. This may just give us a leg up on designing weapons to mop up afterward."

"Good," the President nodded. "General Whitson, how soon can you put your plan into action?"

"The weapon is already on its way. We can deliver it in five days time," Whitson replied. "At least, that's what the boys at JPL tell me."

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Greg knew that all he had to do was make one little slip-up at the wrong time and that would be the end of him. After several more transformations that had been nothing but helpful, the media had lightened up a bit and the US government had taken a much more neutral tone-- in private communications, at least.

Several pundits had even made suggestions as to what Greg should do next-- in a backwards sort of way. "If he were _really_ intending to help the American people," they'd say, "he would..." and they'd insert whatever hoop they wanted him to jump through. Some were ridiculous, some were impossible, but some were feasible and Greg put a couple of them into execution.

Away from a thin strip along the interstate highway, central Oregon was a patchwork of clear-cut scrub and replanted saplings, ugly land that wouldn't be usable or profitable for decades to come. "Since he seems to like _trees_ so much," one particularly snide TV personality had said, "why doesn't he reforest all the empty land in the Northwest? That would create jobs!" And, since the pundit had a lot of connections and investments in the timber industry, it would also put a lot of money in his bank account-- but he didn't say anything about _that_ on the air.

Greg though it was a good idea. "It's on land far away from people-- nobody would get nervous about the change-- hell, they might not even _notice_ for a while." he moved the project to the top of his list.

As usual, he sent a squad of Commandramon to thoroughly check the area first. As he and Renamon had to personally attend each transformation, a planted "request" leading him into a trap would have been an obvious move. So far he had only backed away from two planned operations due to suspicious circumstances.

He often toyed with the idea of programming the terrain-changing capability into a few other digimon in order to take some of the work load off of Renamon but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. It was too big a responsibility to hand over to just anyone and Renamon seemed to be able to intuit exactly what he wanted-- always putting just the right nuances into the changes. And, most importantly, he _trusted_ her. No, the transformations would have to proceed one by one. It would be slow going but it would be done right.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

The day after the Oregon job, the tone of the media was grudgingly positive. Some people openly said that Greg should be pardoned and given a chance to restore other blighted areas of the country without having to sneak around in the dead of night to do it.

Some desperately poor third-world nations even offered him sanctuary and citizenship if he would agree to work for their governments.

Greg happily watched the good news flood in. But he was still wary. "I think we may be rounding a corner," he said to Renamon, "but I don't want to let my guard down. It will still take a while for them to forget--"

"Sir?" one of the Datamon said.

Greg started. They almost never spoke, and only when something very important needed to be brought to his attention. "Yes, Datamon?"

"I have received a request from the White House Chief of Staff."

That wasn't all that unusual. Greg had been trying to negotiate as less hostile relationship with the US government for a long time and they had responded to his communications before-- but only with demands of surrender. This time it was different.

"He informs me the the President of the United States would like to speak to you directly at 9:45pm tonight. He says that the President intends to offer you complete clemency and would like to discuss the details."

Greg was stunned. "Well-- _yes!_ Tell him yes!" He turned to Renamon and flung his arms around her in a joyous hug. "Did you hear that? Of course you did! What a stupid question! I never thought we'd make a breakthrough so soon!"

There _had_ been a breakthrough but not the sort that Greg had in mind. Through a combination of intense satellite scrutiny, analyzing of known digimon movements, and quite a bit of luck, Army Intelligence had discovered the location of Greg's base. And, they had just arranged for him to be there at the exact time when they would use their new weapon.

It wasn't a nuke, of course. Greg's own detection systems and digital demolitions squads made building new atomic weapons impossible. There wasn't anywhere on Earth where a weapon powerful enough to destroy his base could be obtained. So General Whitson and the spacecraft specialists at the Jet-Propulsion Laboratory had gone _elsewhere_.

As Greg and Renamon toasted the illusion of a new, hopeful future, Tiny rocket motors were guiding a two thousand ton near-Earth asteroid into its final trajectory.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

The atmosphere in the Situation Room was tense. It was seven minutes to impact.

Gwen was present but she guessed she had been invited only so that Greenwaldt and Whitson would have an opportunity to gloat. She spoke to one of the scientists present in order to take her mind off the situation. "So, you're sure it will penetrate deep enough to take out the entire base? I'm betting Greg will have dug in very deep even though he's sure there aren't any nukes left. He's always cautious-- damn near paranoid, really."

"Oh yes, general," the scientist reassured her, "at the speed the asteroid is traveling, it will pass through the first few hundred meters of rock like it was fog. The shock will collapse any voids-- uh, _rooms_ that is, in the rock for many hundreds of meters further down. And the EMP will also--"

"Wait a minute," Gwen interrupted him, "EMP? This is just a big chunk of rock isn't it?"

"Oh yes! But any large explosion, even non-nuclear, will generate an electromagnetic pulse. And _this_ explosion will be very large, indeed!" He gestured to the rows of monitors displaying satellite image feeds. "We should set some very valuable data from the event."

"Time to make the call," Whitson said.

The Chief of Staff touched a button on the desk in front of him while glancing at the clock. Less than one minute to impact.

The main screen blanked for a moment and then cleared to reveal Greg's face and upper body with Renamon standing behind his right shoulder. "Good evening," he said pleasantly.

30 seconds to impact.

Gwen felt a strange sense of regret when she saw him. He was a dangerous enemy even though he had just been playing at over-grown renovation projects for the last two years. He had the power to wreak unimaginable havoc and _had_ to be neutralized. _No,_ Gwen corrected herself, _killed. He has to be killed._ But it seemed a shame. She had thought he would have been smarter--

Impact.

The main screen went white for an instant and then black. The side screens showed a gigantic ball of fire rising from the Arizona desert-- along with large chunks _of_ the Arizona desert.

Everyone in the room, except for the scientists who were excitedly watching the readouts of several computers, breathed a silent sigh of relief.

"Good work gentlemen," the President said, "let's get the ground troops in there as soon as possible for cleanup."

"We will be air-dropping troops and armor as soon as the fireball dissipates and the dust cloud clears a bit, sir," General Whitson assured him.

"I think my unit may be of some help, Mr. President," Gwen put in.

"Playtime's over, General Sundstrom," Greenwalt said, "Whatever few digimon haven't been blasted or cooked, we can deal with. Eventually, we will get them _all_." He put a particular emphasis on the word that Gwen knew was meant as a message for her.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

_It's not paranoia if everyone really _is_ out to get me,_ Greg had told himself an hour earlier as he prepared for the call from the President. "I just can't help thinking that it's too good to be true," he said to Renamon as he screwed the little microwave transceiver onto its tripod. "It won't do any harm to take a few precautions." He squinted into the aligning scope to the other transceiver on the opposite side of the canyon above the base.

"There," he said as the contact light lit up on the transceiver, "That'll give us a little safety margin if the President has any nasty surprises in store for us. If they've found out our location and are planning an assault, we won't be bottled up in there. I've also got several squads of Commandramon on patrol for ground infiltrations and a flight of Pteramon watching for aircraft or missiles." He looked up at Renamon and saw that she was troubled. "What is it? Am I being too suspicious about this?"

Renamon shook her head. "No, I think your precautions are wise."

"Then what's wrong? I _know_ something's bothering you."

"If there _is_ a truce-- if you begin to cooperate with the government-- what will happen to us?"

"You and I? We will be _together_," Greg said emphatically. "That's non-negotiable. I'll never--" he paused and watched her carefully. "That's not what you meant is it? By 'us' you meant _digimon_-- right?"

"Yes," she said softly. "You've been making things better for _people_. They like the new, verdant land you've been making-- for _them_. But where will we digimon fit into the new world you'll help make?"

"You think I haven't considered that?" Greg asked.

"I know you _have_," Renamon said, raising her gaze to focus intently on his face. "We're destructive. We live to fight. We _revel_ in combat. Where do such creatures fit into your vision for a peaceful world?"

"I don't intend to force anyone into my version of Utopia," he said taking Renamon by the shoulders. "I just want to make sure that people can live without fear, hunger, or ignorance ruining their lives. What they make of--"

Renamon shrugged Greg's hands off he shoulders. "People-- you're talking about _people_ again. I want to know--"

"_You_ are people!" Greg nearly yelled at her, "Little Bokomon, the gun-toting lizards out there," he waved at the dark hills dotted with dwarf junipers,"even that little dim-wit Demidevimon-- they're _all_ people to me! The world will be for them, too, or the President can take his offer and-- oh _shit_, the President! What time is it?"

He looked at his watch and saw that he had only a minute before the time scheduled for his talk with the President. He quickly connected the little camera to the transceiver and stood back, waiting.

Renamon stood behind him and whispered, "I hope this doesn't take long because I'm feeling the distinct need to drag you off into the trees and make you scream-- for the _right_ reasons, of course."

Greg didn't reply but the hint of a smug grin spread across his face. The camera's tally light went on and the small screen next to it lit up, showing the President and several men, half in uniform, around him.

"Good evening," Greg said and waited for someone to respond to him. Then he recognized General Greewaldt and his smile began to fade. And behind him, almost out of sight-- _Could that really be Gwen?_ he wondered. _What is she--_

The asteroid passed through the atmosphere so quickly that it seemed as if the gigantic glowing streak of its passage had appeared all in one instant. Greg had no chance to think before the impact-- and after the impact he wasn't _able_ to think.

If someone had doused him in gasoline and set it alight, it wouldn't have been nearly as painful. He felt as if he was burning simultaneously inside and out-- as if his very bones had caught fire. The agony was overwhelming and all that went through his mind was a desperate, animal desire to escape the pain.

Nowhere near soon enough, darkness swallowed him.


	17. Change of Plans

Chapter 17  
Change of Plans

Greg fought hard against returning to consciousness and agony but eventually lost the struggle. He ached and there were twinges of pain from all over his body but, surprisingly, they were all bearable. He tried to sit up and discovered he had almost no strength-- he couldn't even lift his head. He _did_ manage to roll his head to one side and, by using his fingers to pull it along, drug one hand into view, fearing what he would see. Instead of the blackened, burnt skin he feared, he saw that his hand looked normal. It felt like it had been run over by a truck but it _looked_ normal.

Beyond his hand he could see dark ground and a gigantic column of smoke and dust against the clear night sky.

"Re--" he tried to call out but immediately broke off into a racking cough that sent spikes of pain through his chest and throat. He had to shut his eyes and breathe quietly for several seconds to fight off the ensuing dizziness and nausea.

He licked his lips and tried again, with less force. His voice came out as a dry croaking whisper but at least it didn't trigger another coughing fit. "Renamon?"

There was no answer.

Greg summoned up enough strength to roll his head to the other side, away from the canyon and toward the scrubby juniper woods. He called again, louder and only coughed once afterward. Still no answer.

He rested for a moment, trying to summon up the strength for a yell that might be heard more than a few feet away. When he opened his eyes again he saw movement in the woods; figures in camouflaged helmets and uniforms making their way towards him.

He tried to call for Renamon again but choked and coughed immediately, hot agony ripping through his chest.

One of the uniformed figures stooped over him. "Sir? How badly are you hurt? Can you speak?"

Greg made a huge effort and croaked out, "I don't know. Where's Renamon?"

The Commadramon lifted his reptilian snout, looked around and sniffed. He then made a series of curt gestures to the rest of his squad. "And you two," he said out loud, "cut some of those small saplings for stretcher poles."

"Renamon?" Greg insisted.

"They're searching for her," the Commandramon told him, "but we need to get you out of here _now_. There are human aircraft dropping troops and vehicles--"

"No," Greg insisted, "I'm not going without Renamon!"

"She's here!" called a voice from a short distance away. "At least, I _think_ it's her."

"Is she alright?" Greg asked, trying desperately to sit up so that he could see. A wave of dizziness swept over him and he fell back, panting.

The Commandramon who had called out came over with something small and limp in his arms. Greg could see the familiar shine of Renamon's golden fur but what the soldier lizard carried was far too small to be his beloved partner.

"Oh God! What happened? Is she--" he broke off as the Commandramon bent down and placed his burden next to Greg's head.

"Devolved and unconscious," the Commandramon reassured him, "but she's alive."

Greg stared in wonder at Renamon's Child form. The last description he ever imagined could be attached to his fierce partner was "cute"-- but she _was_. She was a small ball of golden fur with two tiny pointed ears and a little wisp of a tail. Small, delicate paws peeped out from under the white fluff of her chest fur. He made a supreme effort and managed to lift one hand up to stroke her head. She stirred slightly and made a nearly inaudible sighing sound, but didn't wake.

Knowing that she was safe-- or the closest to safe they were going to be for a while-- Greg's thoughts turned to other matters. "What's the status of everyone else?" he asked the Commandramon leader.

"The base is gone. Some of the burrowing types may have survived if they were in a shielded area, but we won't know about that for a while yet. Up top, everyone beyond the EMP's effective range is fine-- mostly wide patrols like us, or digimon out on a mission. The ones close to the blast--" he made a gesture that indicated that Greg would know more about that situation than he would.

The other digimon returned and made a makeshift stretcher with the saplings and a camouflaged cloth. Greg braced himself for sudden pain as they lifted him onto it, but felt no more than a few twinges. At his insistence they placed Viximon on his chest instead of carrying her separately.

They made their way Southward, smoothly and quietly. Greg couldn't see the progress they were making because he and Viximon had been covered with one of the shifting camo cloths to screen them from any enemies with IR equipment. The Commandramon, being ambient-temperature reptiles, had no need of that sort of concealment. He _did_ hear aircraft overhead and in the distance and, later on in the night, faint explosions and weapons fire from the North, but it was all meaningless to him. He slipped into and out of sleep as they traveled, always waking with a sudden jerk-- his heart beating quickly.

The third time they stopped to allow some of the squad to scout ahead and to give Greg a bit of water and food, Viximon's stirred and moaned. Greg dropped the protein bar and touched her head gently. "It's alright," he whispered, "I'm here."

Her huge eyes fluttered open. They were still the same brilliant sapphire blue he knew so well.

"Hey, you." Greg said softly, still gently stroking her head.

"We're alive--" Viximon said, as if the fact was nearly impossible to believe.

"Yeah-- I guess you're still stuck with the stupidest genius on the planet," Greg said ruefully.

Viximon shifted in his arms and poked her adorable little button nose closer to his face. "You're _not_ stupid! Why would you--"

"Well, I sure as hell didn't see _this_ coming! They suckered me, Rena-- uh-- Viximon. It's only by pure luck we're still alive." He filled her in on the details.

"I knew what it was," she said quietly after he'd finished. "I've felt it before, you know. I saw you fall and I tried to get to you but I couldn't. And then--"

"You must have lasted a lot longer than I did. All I remember is the flash and then the pain-- God, the pain! I don't know why I'm not burned all over."

"It was the canyon," Viximon told him, "it deflected most of the blast. The only thing that hit us was the EMP. Otherwise, I don't think--"

"But that's-- are you _sure?_ The EMP shouldn't have affected me at all. I--" Greg's words trailed off and he got that look on his face that his partner knew very well indeed. Viximon let him think and drifted off back to sleep.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

The Commandramon got them clear of the area cordoned off by the military and set up a concealed camp for them to spend the day in. Both Greg and Viximon felt much better and were able to move around a bit by the next evening.

"I never even thought about it," Greg said as they shared a cold meal of dried, compressed crap that tasted horrible but could, in theory, keep them fed and healthy for weeks. "Whatever happened to my original physical body when I first went into the Digital Dimension, it was replaced by this one when I came out-- just like yours. That's why I was vulnerable to the EMP-- now I'm made up of the same type of matter that you and the other digimon are." He poked at his forearm with a finger, made a fist, and poked again. "Funny, I don't _feel_ any different. But, you know--" he pulled up his t-shirt and looked down at his belly. "I haven't been nearly as physically active this past year-- sitting at computer terminals around the base and eating a lot of great food--" he paused a moment, realizing that little Bokomon, who had been such a fine cook as well as an able assistant, was now gone forever. He sighed and tucked his shirt back in. "I haven't gained any weight. I'm still as lean as when we were on the run in the Midwest. Maybe I'm-- I dunno, _frozen_ in this body the way it is now."

Viximon hopped into his lap and nuzzled against his belly. "Digital or not, it's a very _nice_ body and, once I get _my_ proper one back, I'll show you just how much I appreciate it!"

"Well, then," Greg grinned, "I guess we'd better hurry and find a new place to live!"

Viximon looked up at him and asked, "And what then?"

"Well," Greg said, "with any luck, they might believe I'm dead-- and maybe I should let them continue to think that until I'm ready to make my next move." He raised his legs and wrapped his arms around Viximon, resting one cheek against the top of her head.

She sighed and snuggled into his embrace, nearly surrounded by his body and enjoying the novel sensation. "What will that be?"

"I'm not certain-- but I _do_ know one thing," Greg said, "I tried to show them what I could do for them and look how _that_ turned out. I think now I'll have to show them what I can do _to_ them."

/\/\/\/\/\/\

"General Sundstrom? The General will see you now."

Gwen got up and brushed past the aid, just barely keeping from stomping as she entered the office deep in the Pentagon.

The three-star general seated behind the desk glanced up from his paperwork and said, simply, "Sit."

_Like I'm his fucking dog,_ Gwen thought bitterly as she sat in one of the hard wooden chairs facing the desk. Her relationship with the Army had grown into a very equitable one: She hated it-- and it hated her back.

After making her wait in silence for a long moment, the general looked up and said, "This report speaks very highly of your unit's ability to deal with wild digimon."

"Since the destruction of Greg's Arizona base, we've killed more of them than all the other units combined-- by a _long_ shot." Gwen put in, even though she knew the general already knew the figures. "And no casualties. The others have lost-- how many men?"

"Immaterial," the general snapped. "We now want to know how good your unit will be at a different task."

"What? You're going to give them tanks to drive? Or maybe airplanes--"

"_General Sundstrom_," the man snarled, "you will _not_ use that tone of voice with me. Is that _understood?_"

Gwen briefly weighed the satisfaction of telling the desk-bound old tub of lard what she thought of him against the probable consequences and simply said, "Yes, sir," in a flat monotone.

"Good." He lifted the papers in front of him and read, "'Three digimon captured.' Out of all the ones killed, that is a very low number. Why is that?"

"There's a razor thin line between when a digimon is too exhausted to fight and when it dies from energy loss-- and that window of opportunity doesn't last long. The ones we've captured were because of luck, not intent."

"But you could increase the ratio if you _did_ intend capture, correct?"

"Yes, but that would dramatically increase the danger to the members of my unit. Holding back while fighting a digimon isn't exactly suicide, but it's close."

"Nevertheless, we need more captive digimon for the scientists to study. They don't last long and we only get a tiny amount of information from them before they--" the general groped for an appropriate word, "--dissolve. We need more test subjects."

"General," Gwen said quietly, trying to keep any hint of the anger and outrage she was feeling out of her voice, "do you really think that having a few more digimon to-- _study_, would be worth any of my people being killed?"

The general was unmoved. "The phrase used in my orders is '..._at any cost_.' But there is another way of obtaining subjects without risking the lives under your command."

Gwen blinked in surprise but said nothing, as it was obvious the general had a surprise that he wanted her to _ask_ for.

After a moment the general's frown deepened a bit and he said, "We could also use _volunteers._"

It took a second for that to sink in. "You mean you want them to-- no, that's crazy! I won't ask _any_ of them to do that. We only work as well as we do because--"

"I'm not interested in what methods you choose to use, General Sundsrtom," the general interrupted, "I only want results. You will deliver more digimon captives to Army Intelligence and the NSA as ordered or I will replace you with someone who _will_. And your new assignment will be as unpleasant as I can make it, if you somehow escape court martial for dereliction of duty. _Is. That. Clear?_"

_I could kill him, _Gwen thought. _I could put a kick right under his chin that would knock his head back and snap his spine. Maybe-- claim a wild digimon had somehow appeared in his office and-- _she sighed and said, "Yes, sir."

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Greg never made the same mistake twice. He didn't build a new base, he made several small hidden "safe houses." They mostly were more _caves_ than houses, though a few were heavily modified warehouses. He grew digital gates in all of them-- small ones that could only pass a few digimon at a time. He and Renamon never stayed more than a day in any one of them, and most of his computing and communications traffic was routed through the Digital Dimension where there was no possibility that anyone could trace it.

When his new operation was stable and decentralized enough, he began to do research into what had happened in Arizona and then began to take measures to make sure it wouldn't happen again. Or, at least, if it were attempted, he would have more than enough advanced warning.

He also began to do experiments on expanding and manipulating the Digital Dimension. Sooner or later the government scientists would find a way to let the military face him on _that_ battle ground, too, and he was determined to be ready for them-- if he couldn't put a stop to all the insane hostilities before then.

And then, almost by accident, as a result of fiddling around with Renamon's transformative power in conjunction with a Datamon-based information gathering operation, Greg discovered something that crystallized his plans for the future.

Almost six months to the day after the world thought he had been killed, computer and TV screens world-wide flickered briefly and revealed Greg's smiling face. "This is a friendly warning to the bastards that tried to kill me several times-- to the scum that _did_ kill hundreds of my friends in Arizona and millions of innocent people in California. I tried to be nice. I tried to make peace. I tried to make the world a better place. But I see now that things will never get any better until you murderous pieces of shit are stamped out like cockroaches." Greg paused, still smiling, to let that thought sink in.

"So, tomorrow afternoon-- just as a small demonstration of what's to come-- I'm going to wipe Washington DC off the face of the Earth."


	18. Clean Slate

Chapter 18  
Clean Slate

Far beneath the Pentagon in the secure area set aside for digimon research, Gwen had finally lost her temper.

"Are you a fucking _idiot?_" she screamed at the liaison for Homeland Security who had interrupted her already heated discussion with the laboratory director to inform her of Greg's broadcast threat. "Do you think for one _second_ that he just told us his _real_ plans? There's no way in _hell_ he'd give us that much advanced notice of--"

The cowering man was saved by the sudden appearance of a Marine lieutenant. "General Sundstrom, you're needed topside ASAP. I'm to take you to an emergency meeting of the Joint Chiefs."

The lieutenant thought he heard her mutter something like, "more idiots" but she made a curt gesture for him to lead the way and said nothing else.

After the elevator doors had closed behind her and the lieutenant, the HS liaison turned to the lab director and said, "God, what a-- a--"

The director shook his head and said, "You won't come up with anything that hasn't been said a hundred times already. Sometimes that woman scares me more than the things we've got locked up back there." He hooked a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the digimon containment cells that hummed and crackled as the power needed to restrain their occupants was pumped through the titanium mesh over the bars.

The HS liaison pointed at the black and yellow warning stripe labeled: DANGER AREA that ran along the front of the cells about six feet away from the bars. "Maybe they ought to paint something like that around _her!_"

It was the last time either of them ever laughed.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Things began to unfold exactly as Greg had expected.

People immediately did the last thing that would be of any help: They panicked. The government responded with all the efficiency and effectiveness it had shown during such disasters as Hurricane Katrina, which meant that the DC police and firefighters were pretty much on their own, trying to guide and keep peaceful the desperate flood of people all attempting to flee the district at once.

In contrast, the evacuation of the President, Senate and Congress began very smoothly. Not too strangely, perhaps, a hurried evacuation of the political leadership had been planned and updated ever since the Cold War.

In the station of the private railway that ran beneath the Capitol Building, legislators and hand-picked members of their staffs lined up in an orderly, unhurried way, boarding the trains as they rolled up to the platform, one after the other. Nobody noticed that the trains didn't look exactly like the ones that usually ran on the line.

Marine One, the huge helicopter that was always at the President's disposal, touched down on the South Lawn of the White house. The President, his family, and a few members of his cabinet, surrounded by Secret Service guards, crossed the grass and boarded the aircraft. The helicopter lifted off smoothly and turned onto a heading for Andrews Air Force Base. The first inkling that anyone had that something had gone wrong was when Marine One suddenly dissolved into bright sparkles of light and disappeared from the sky.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Two down and one to go," Greg said as he watched the Presidential aircraft vanish from where he stood on the roof of the Pentagon. He noted the flights of Pteramon that would provide air cover for his current operation rising into the air across the Potomac and then lowered his binoculars and touched a button on his headset and began to speak. "Are the Digmon in position? Good. Go ahead. Make sure the lower floors are isolated and the roof--"

He didn't get a chance to finish. A section of the roof about 50 feet from him blasted upward, creating a swirling cloud of smoke and debris.

"Never mind," he sighed, "_I'll _take care of the roof." Renamon crouched, her claws flexing in anticipation as he unclipped his digivice from his belt, unhappy at the thought of taking out soldiers who were only doing their job. But since their job was to protect the bastards who had waged a senseless and brutal war against him, it couldn't be helped. But what was revealed as the smoke and dust blew away wasn't soldiers-- not in the strictest sense, anyway.

They were _kids._

Kids in brightly colored uniform jumpsuits and helmets. In their hands were digivices and beside each one was a digimon. Greg just stared for a moment, caught completely flat-footed. Then he saw the figure standing behind the tamers. The figure wore the same sort of uniform but was taller and much more-- _shapely._

Gwen flipped up the visor of her helmet and smiled a sweet, poisonous smile at him. "Hello Greg. You're a day ahead of schedule, aren't you? But you didn't fool _me._" She wasn't about to tell him that she had had no idea that he'd show up there in person and that she had only been ordered to guard the building by the Joint Chiefs. She shrugged casually and said, her voice dripping with satisfaction, "This is my unit-- the Digimon Defense Force. We're here to kick the ever-loving shit out of you and your mangy bitch."

/\/\/\/\/\/\

The passengers aboard the capitol subway train were astounded when they emerged from the darkness of familiar tunnels to roll through a verdant field of tall grass and wild flowers. Some of them felt a sudden nausea and one or two slumped to the floor of the train, unconscious, but most were unaware of how strange the transition really was.

After less than a minute, the train slid to a smooth stop in front of a rustic but beautifully-designed train station and the doors slid open. At first, nobody wanted to exit into this beautiful but strange new land. The train shook itself slightly and said, "Move on out, now! I've gotta go back for another load. Shoo!"

The speech didn't convince them at first. They were all used to automated announcements on trains and in stations. Then the front of the train reared up and curled back over itself, the metal over the headlights moved down and the airscoop curled into what was unmistakably a frown. "Go on! Git! You're messin' up my schedule!"

They got.

Beyond the station was a large, beautiful village of white stuccoed houses with blue-tiled roofs climbing up the shoulder of a tall, green hill. A few figures moved here and there in its streets-- figures that weren't human. In the large open area before the village was a crowd of people who had come through before the newest arrivals, and in the middle of the crowd was grounded a huge military helicopter bearing the seal of the President of the United States.

A senator stepped forward and called out to the people around the aircraft. "Does anybody know what the hell's going on here?"

/\/\/\/\/\/\

"When the guards told us the roof access doors had been fused and all the cameras up here had gone dark, I knew it had to be you," Gwen said as her team spread out across the rooftop. "Fortunately, some of our members carry their own built-in blasting equipment-- which we are now going to use _on you!_"

Greg shook off his astonished paralysis and actually grinned at Gwen. "I'm actually glad to see you, because I've wanted to say this for a long, long time--" He made a general gesture with his left hand, indicating the line of enemies facing him. "Renamon-- _walk all over them!_"

He squeezed the trigger of his digivice and the pulse of energy that shot into his partner made her fur ripple and spark. The young leader of the tamers-- or the DDF or whatever they called themselves, pulled up the info disc on her digivice, but before it could deliver any information, Greg had triggered the second card slot and a whirling digivolution vortex sprung up around Renamon.

Just as the vortex dissolved, Greg heard the girl start to read the stats out loud to her team, "X-Kyuubimon, Champion, Data-Variant type, attacks are--"

Her teammates were already triggering mods and digivolutions for their own partners but Greg had, literally, one last card to play. The pulse of excess energy that crackled off of his partner after he pulled the trigger was so intense it made his teeth ache. In an instant, where there had been one huge nine-tailed fox, there were five.

"He's aliased her!" the leader shouted. Her helmet hid her face but Greg recognized her voice: She was the freckle-faced girl that had embarrassed him on the riverbank. At least she'd lost the dumb goggles. "The copies will be weaker than the original! Hit them hard!"

The digimon that had been moving to surround X-Kyuubimon were now in danger of being enveloped themselves and had to scramble to re-align themselves. That gave her the time she needed to launch five sets of Foxtail Inferno attacks.

The rooftop blazed with blue fire and the cries of battle.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Far below the fighting, the lights in the digimon containment area flickered briefly. "Don't worry," the director hastened to reassure the HS liaison, "We've got an instant-on backup generator down here. Even if the main power fails, we'll be fine."

Behind him a section of the wall seemed to blur and then, suddenly, there was a commando dinosaur in the room with the two men. It held up a small plastic device in one hand that had a large red button on top. "And if something happens to your generator?" it asked, almost pleasantly.

The director spun around and gaped at the Commandramon, but before he could say anything, the digimon had pressed the red button on the device. The was a dull _whumph!_ from somewhere nearby and the room was plunged into darkness.

The hum of the electrified cells went silent.

The last thing the two men heard was the creak and snap of metal bars and many sets of powerful, clawed feet rushing toward them.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

In the broad meadow across the train tracks from the village station, a spire of crystalline rock surged up through the earth. The crowd of people turned as one, most wondering if the bizarre structure presaged something dangerous. So far, none of them had worked up the nerve to enter the village and encounter the digimon that peered curiously out at them.

A fissure split the spire and widened into a gap large enough for a man to pass through-- which was convenient because that was exactly what began to happen: Men started passing through. Men in uniform. Angry, confused men in uniform. Some of them staggered as they made the transition to digital form and a few passed out, as had happened on the trains, but most simply marched through and began shouting angry questions at the people across the tracks.

General Greenwaldt said nothing. He had a much better idea about what had happened when the soldier digimon had forced them all through the glowing portals that had appeared inside the Pentagon than anyone else in the crowd. He marched past Marine One, merely glancing at the huddled knot of men around the First Family and continued on to the gates of the village.

The digimon at the gate was fairly innocuous-looking but Greenwaldt knew better than anyone that digimon looks were deceptive. "You're a Biyomon, aren't you?" he asked, trying not to sound hostile.

"Yes, I am," the small pink bird chirped happily, "Welcome to Terminus Village!"

_Terminus,_ thought the general sourly, _I don't like the sound of that. _Aloud, he said, "Have you been given any orders?"

"Yes I have! Greg has instructed me, and all of the digimon here, to welcome the new arrivals, attend to their needs, and make them feel comfortable in their new home."

"New-- _home?_" the general grunted in surprise.

"Why, yes!" the little bird hesitated and then added, "Oh, not just the _village_-- this whole _world_ is your new home. It's pretty large-- it ought to be room enough for all of you even if you like to spread out."

"What if we don't _want_ to stay?"

"Well--" the digimon cocked her head to one side, considering the general's question. "Then you will probably be sad." She straightened her head and her eyes took on a glint that the general didn't care for at all. "Because you _are_ going to stay. You're going to stay _forever._" And she clicked her sharp beak once in wholly unnecessary emphasis.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Greg surveyed the disorganized digimon with satisfaction. They weren't quite beaten, but they were being steadily driven back by X-Kyuubimon's relentless attacks. _It won't be long, now,_ he thought.

"Hey, Gwen," he called out, "Are you sure you don't want to surrender? If you ask me really nicely, I might even--" he looked around, suddenly realizing that in the confusion of battle, he had lost track of the woman. He spun and ducked instinctively and there, behind him was Gwen, no more than thirty feet away.

"Nice try," he growled at her.

She kept coming.

Greg raised an eyebrow. "Are you looking for a _personal_ rematch?" he asked as he dropped into a fighting crouch. "Because I'd just _love_ to--"

When she was just outside of his range, Gwen made a flicking motion with her right arm and a small pistol appeared in her hand as if by magic. In the space of two heartbeats, she shot Greg twice in the chest and once in the head.


	19. The Bad Seed

Chapter 19  
The Bad Seed

The digimon that had escaped the containment cells ripped through the doors to the elevator shaft and boiled upward toward freedom. They could sense the fight going on on the roof but were more interested in escape-- particularly the ones who's acuity of perception allowed them to recognize the combatants as the ones who had captured them in the first place.

But there was one who wasn't interested in escape. That one paused at every level, sniffing at the cracks of the elevator doors until one bore the scent he was searching for. He shoved long, curved claws between the doors, forced them open, and leaped out into the hallway.

The digimon ran, head down, following the scent until he came to a wide double door that was securely locked. He tore through the doors in seconds and snarled at the sharp stings of bullets that smacked into his shoulder and flank as he surged into the room. Reflexively, he spun and dispatched the soldier with a single swipe of his fearsome claws.

Then he hesitated, staring down at the dead man and feeling confused and uncertain. "Never kill men," had been an unbreakable rule. But there had been other rules, too. Rules that _had_ been broken. Trusts that had been betrayed. He shook his head and snarled in dismissive anger. The scent and finding its source was all that mattered.

Two more doors gave way before him and the scent grew steadily stronger until, when he pressed his nose against the crack beneath the third, the scent came clear and strong and fresh. He ripped at the door but it wasn't as flimsy as the others. It was solid layers of steel over a heavy metal framework. The digimon roared in frustration and savagely tore at the door and the frame and the wall until the sheet metal tore and the frame buckled and shattered.

He shouldered the ruined door aside and burst into the small room, searching in the dim illumination of the emergency lights. And there she was-- a small girl huddled, terrified on a simple metal cot. Terrified-- until she could make out the shape of the monster that had ripped its way into her cell. Then she gave a half-shout, half-sob of joy, leaped off the cot and ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck.

"You're alive!" she cried over and over again as tears of happiness streamed down her cheeks, "you're alive! You're alive!"

/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Ow! Ow!" Greg yelled as he rubbed the red mark on his forehead where the third bullet had struck him. "Shit, Gwen! That _hurt!_"

Gwen froze in surprise for an instant but then raised the gun again.

"Oh, no you don't." Greg muttered and stepped in on her with startling speed. He tried to grab the gun out of her hand but found that it was attached to her. A metal rod was connected to its butt and ran up her sleeve. By pulling on it, he merely jammed the mechanism and jerked her around a bit. So he satisfied himself with pushing the gun's slide back and crushing its end between his thumb and forefinger, rendering the weapon useless.

"What the hell--" Gwen stared at the broken gun and then at Greg.

"Digital reconstruction," Greg told her. "I'm all carbon-fiber muscles and pure electrical reflexes now-- faster and stronger-- pretty much the same as a digimon, really. You can't hurt me." He lifted his digivice and glanced at the info disc and then at the battle. His partner's last alias was going down under the weight of four determined enemies and the original X-Kyuubimon was disheveled and battered but still moving with fluid speed and power. Greg lowered his digivice and turned back to Gwen.

"You might as well call off your-- _unit_. All the top brass will have been neutralized by now," Greg told her. "You've already lost. If those kids keep on fighting, they're just going to lose their partners."

Gwen sneered at him. "Not even human anymore, Greg? Why aren't you in there with your _partner?_" The way she said the word made it sound like an obscenity.

"Oh, I wouldn't want to deny Kyuubi her fun," Greg shrugged. "Besides, even as strong as I am now, I'm still no match for a Champion digimon and I don't have--"

"Good!" Gwen interrupted him as she grabbed at the small of her back with her left hand. If she had been able to use her right hand, Greg wouldn't have had a chance. But because the ruined gun still hung in front of it, she had to fumble at her back-up weapon with her off hand, and it made her just slow enough.

Greg stared in surprise as the stubby little gun rose toward him. Its barrel was so large that he could have stuck his thumb down it. Just as he was beginning to twist aside from her line of fire, a massive set of fangs slammed shut on Gwen's left forearm. She shrieked in pain and the gun went off, blasting a coffin-sized hole in the roof where the specially-designed digimon-killer round impacted. Greg recovered his balance and just stared at the newcomers, unsure what was happening. Gwen used her broken gun to hammer at the red-furred head of the lupine digimon that held her arm trapped but it simply squinted its eye shut and bit down harder. There was a muffled crunch from inside its mouth and Gwen gasped and sank to her knees, her face whitening in pain and shock.

"You lied to me," said a soft voice.

Greg hadn't noticed the small girl perched just being the Fangmon's shoulders, hanging on to the leather straps that criss-crossed its back. She was small and delicate of build with long dark hair. There were the streaks of dried tears on her cheeks and an expression of hatred on her face.

"You said they wouldn't hurt him. You said it was just for _tests_," the small girl continued, "but they _did_ hurt him-- they hurt him a _lot_. I could _feel_ them do it. Then the pain stopped and I thought-- I thought--" She broke off and sobbed once. "But he got away-- he found me--"

Greg felt safe enough to glance at the fight. X-Kyuubimon was shaking Garurumon like a terrier would a rat. The rest of the opposing digimon seemed to be out of the fight or too feeble to do any damage. He turned back to Gwen, the girl, and her partner. It seemed he wouldn't need to worry about this particular Champion Nightmare Soldier entering the fight.

"If-- if he had died--" the girl paused to sob again. Gwen was now hanging from the digimon's jaws, halfway to unconsciousness from pain and blood loss but the girl either didn't notice or didn't care. "I would have been all alone! He's the only one who ever-- who ever _liked_ me! Melissa never did! _You_ never did! The creepy girl and her creepy partner-- I know that's what you all thought! But I never thought you would-- you--" she was crying at the same time as she spoke, her words nearly unintelligible. "Did you-- hate me so much? I fought for-- for you--"

"It's all right," Greg told her softly, stepping around Fangmon's huge head to reach up to the girl. Fangmon gave a little warning growl, blowing small bubbles of saliva and blood from between his lips. The black leather encasing his legs creaked as he shifted his weight, preparing to strike at Greg if he offered any threat to his tamer. Greg lowered his hand. "Your partner's fine now. You won't be alone."

The girl wiped away her tears with her forearm and looked down at Greg as if seeing him for the first time. "I want to join you," she said, "I guess I'm a bad guy now-- like you. But I don't care! I don't care as long as I have Fangmon with me."

Greg stepped back. _Bad guy, huh?_ he thought, sourly. _But have I done anything as outright evil as taking that girl's partner-- her friend-- away from her? _He looked back at the fight. X-Kyuubimon was crushing Salamon beneath one blazing paw as she advanced on a boy who was trying bravely to drag his unconscious Veemon partner away from her implacable jaws. _God-- I'm _about_ to!_

_ "Kyuubimon!"_ he called out loud, knowing his voice would reach her even over the noise of battle. "Back off! They're beaten-- leave them alone!"

X-Kyuubimon threw him an are-you-sure look and then lifted her paw off the gasping Salamon and stepped back from the fight.

When they didn't have to desperately struggle to keep their partners from being ripped to shreds, the tamers had a chance to see what was happening across the rooftop!

"General!" Melissa cried out, "Are you alright? Leave her alone you monster!"

Greg assumed that she was talking to him but it was the small girl who answered her. "No. She would have killed Fangmon, and now I'm going to kill her."

Melissa blanched in shock. "Lisa? What-- what do you mean? You can't really be serious!"

Greg glanced down at his digivice's display. The power bar had reached a sufficient level for his next move. "Let her go," he said softly to Lisa. The girl said nothing-- just stared at him in confusion.

Greg didn't have time to explain or argue. "If you want to join me, you can. But you have to do what I say. Let her go."

Lisa whispered a response and Fangmon released Gwen who slumped down onto the roof, cradling her ruined arm. Greg nodded his thanks and then turned and pointed his digivice at his partner. "Time to go!" he called out as he pulled the trigger. A Digivolution vortex sprung into being and immediately swelled to nearly thirty feet in diameter.

Gwen was too far gone to react but the rest of her team gasped in dismay as the gigantic Taomon emerged from the vortex. She towered over them all, scowling ferociously. They all knew she was in the evolutionary line from Renamon and had studied her stats, but abstract learning was one thing and suddenly being faced with an enormous half-human, half-fox Ultimate in flowing, taoist robes was quite another. Particularly when her mere Champion form had just devastated all their partners.

"Looking good, partner!" Greg called up to her, "nice hat!"

Taomon lifted one eyebrow and looked down at him out of the corned of one eye.

"We need to go. Can you encompass all of us?" He made a motion indicating Gwen, Lisa, and Fangmon.

Taomon didn't deign to reply. She just shook her hands out of her voluminous sleeves and clasped them together in front of her in a complex grip. A large glowing taijitu sprang into existence below their feet and a shimmering hemisphere of force arched over them. They began to lift off from the rooftop, smoothly and silently.

"Wait!" Melissa cried out to them. "Leave the General! She needs a doctor! Please!"

"Don't worry, I'll _take care_ of her," Greg replied in a tone of voice that wasn't very reassuring.

"No!" Melissa screamed, "We'll get you! We'll find you and stop you! And you too, Lisa-- you _traitor!_" Lisa tried not to react to the screamed curse but Greg saw her flinch and her partner lifted his lip ever so slightly. They soared off into the sky, rapidly accelerating and leaving the Pentagon and Washington far behind.

"Can you spare some concentration for Gwen?" Greg asked. Taomon sighed and several slips of red paper flew out of one of her sleeves and wrapped themselves around Gwen's mangled arm. They glowed briefly and disappeared and Gwen relaxed and then slumped, going completely prone and slipping into a forced sleep.

Greg bent down and checked on her and then turned to the small girl who still sat on the shoulders of her partner. "Okay-- Lisa, is it? First, tell me what happened to you and Fangmon and then I'll try and set you straight about who the _real_ villains are around here." He kept his voice as light and cheerful as possible and was rewarded by a wan little smile from the girl.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Gwen woke up gradually. She was lying on a bed under a thin coverlet. The room was sparsely furnished but one side had a large piece of unfamiliar machinery in one corner. Gwen cautiously sat up raised her left arm. It seemed fine. There were no wounds-- not even any scars-- not even the ones that had been there _before_ Fangmon had bitten her.

As she began to take in the room, two luminous green eyes opened in the Datamon's face and its transparent bubble head swiveled to focus on her.

Gwen leaped from the bed, throwing the cover in the direction of the digimon and dashed for the door. She wrenched at the handle but it didn't budge.

"DO NOT BE ALARMED." the Datamon said in a voice full of static hiss and mechanical clicking.

Gwen spun and delivered a full-strength back kick beside the door handle. The door made a cracking sound but didn't otherwise seem affected.

"PLEASE REMAIN CALM."

Gwen turned to face the now active mechanical digimon but kept as far away from it as the small room allowed.

"I WILL SUMMON GREG TO DEAL WITH YOU."

Gwen suddenly realized she hadn't a stitch of clothing on and hurriedly reexamined the room. There were some light gray sweat clothes draped over the back of a single chair and she slipped into them as fast as possible.

A minute or so later, there was a rattle at the door, a pause, and another, more forceful rattle. Then the door cracked and broke and swung out into the hallway.

"I think you jammed the lock with your kick," Greg said as he held out one arm, indicating that Gwen should come out into the hall.

"How did you know what I--" Gwen began.

"Cameras." Greg said shortly. "They're everywhere throughout this facility and there are digimon on patrol outside who have orders to kill you on sight, so no stupid moves, please." He led her into a room that had three large swivel chairs facing a wall of monitors. On the central monitor was a view of a large space containing several long couches around a large, low table. The room was well-lit but there were no windows. Renamon was sitting on one couch and Fangmon was stretched out, overlapping the one next to hers. Between them, on the floor, Lisa sat, passing tidbits of food up to her partner from the large platter that rested on the low table in front of her. She looked happy.

"Lisa has told me a very interesting story, Gwen," Greg said as he waved her to a seat and settled into the chair next to hers. "I'm really impressed with what you did with the tamers-- collecting them-- training them-- _indoctrinating_ them."

Gwen said nothing. She sat silently, carefully watching his face.

"I always knew you were deceitful and manipulative," Greg continued, "but I never thought you'd just turn over someone on your own team to be--"

"I didn't have a choice!" Gwen snapped. "If those bastards had gotten their way it would have been half my team instead of just _that_ one." She tossed her head at Fangmon.

"And you picked her because she didn't fit in well with the others? Or was it personal dislike or something more subtle? Maybe some devious psychological manipulation you had in mind to--"

"Goddamnit, Greg!" she spat at him, "You're nobody to be pointing a finger at me for doing the best I could under difficult circumstances. As for dishonestly and outright lying, you and your monster are way out of _my_ league!"

"Misdirection and even outright lies are just weapons, I'll grant you," Greg said, "but I talking about betraying someone who's-- who-- _what_ did you say?"

"I said you're a lying sack of shit," Gwen replied helpfully.

"No you didn't. Not just me-- you included Renamon--" he narrowed his eyes at her, "Why did you do that?"

Gwen threw back her head and laughed. "Oh good God, Greg! You still haven't figured out how she's been playing you all this time? Every move you've made has been tainted with _her_ objectives!"

Greg was on his feet. "That's bullshit! This is one of your sick games and I'm not going to listen to it!"

"Fine. But you're close to consolidating your power aren't you?" Gwen continued, ignoring Greg's flushed face and his tightly clenched fists. "When she's safe-- when she and the other digimon aren't in danger any more-- do you really think she'll have any reason to serve her tamer-- her _master_ any longer? You think _I'm_ a master manipulator? Well it takes one to know one, and I could see what she was doing to you from--"

"Shut up!" Greg snarled at her.

"Okay, okay," Gwen said, as she sighed and pretended indifference, "I won't try to enlighten you. But you're a smart guy-- you should think back to every important decision you've made and see if it wasn't just what your furry _fuck-buddy_ wanted you to--"

The slap echoed in the small room like a gunshot. Gwen tumbled to the floor and collapsed, dazed by the force of the blow. Greg left the room with long, angry strides and made a curt gesture to the Commandramon waiting in the hallway. "Tie her up and gag her and bring her to the Common Room in fifteen minutes. If she gives you any trouble, you can beat the hell out of her but don't kill her. I've promised that privilege to someone else."

Greg continued down the hallway, trying to keep his anger under control. He'd be rid of Gwen soon and then he could begin to wipe the memory of her from his life. He wouldn't have to think-- to think about what she'd said.

He _tried _not to--

---but the seed had been planted.


	20. Bad Guys

**Author's Note:**

** Sorry this chapter took so long but I messed up one of my fingers and it's been a pain in the butt to type. If you spot any typos, blame it on that-- and please let me know about them, so I can fix them.**

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Chapter 20  
Bad Guys

They all reacted differently when Greg entered the room. Fangmon coolly tracked him with one baleful yellow eye. Greg knew the look; it was that almost reflexive assessment that digimon went through when meeting: _How strong is he? Is he hostile? Any obvious weak points? _It was the digimon equivalent of a friendly nod between strangers. Greg took it as a compliment.

Lisa went quiet, pulled her legs up and hugged her knees to her chest while lowering her head. She stared up at him through a drift of hair that had fallen across her face. Obviously she had come to regard attention of any sort as a bad thing.

Renamon took less than a second to realize that something was wrong. "Greg? Is she--"

"Awake, yes," he nodded as he sat on the couch opposite her.

Renamon had shifted to make room on her couch for Greg and his choice of seat made her even more concerned. "Did she-- do something? Or--"

Greg barked out a laugh and shook his head. "It's weird. I've never admired anyone so much that I also wanted to kill so badly. That woman is _dangerous_."

"I--" Renamon frowned, "I don't understand."

"Don't worry, Renamon," Greg said, staring down at the tabletop rather than looking at his partner, "one way or another, we won't have to worry about her for much longer."

"Are you--" Lisa began hesitantly, "are you going to--" She trailed off and pulled in on herself even tighter, only her eyes visible above her knees.

"Kill her?" Greg said, "Yes. Not me personally-- I promised Renamon that _she_ could do it. And I don't go back on my promises."

"I-- I would have done it last night," Lisa said, "I was so mad at her for hurting Fangmon that I-- I--" She rested her forehead against her knees and the rest of her words were muffled and barely audible. "But I don't want to anymore. I guess I'm a bad guy now but-- but-- _please_ don't make me watch, okay?"

There was a long silence.

Greg got up and crossed to where Lisa sat on the floor and knelt down in front of her. Fangmon's hackles lifted and he let the barest hint of a warning growl escape his lips. Greg glared at him, using his long experience with digimon to give a silent but clear message: _I'm not going to hurt her, so don't even think about messing with me or I'll kick your ass._

Fangmon blinked in surprise but relaxed, watching the two of them with curiosity.

Greg lifted Lisa's head from her knees, forcing her to look him in the face. "Geek, nerd, weirdo, creep," he said with slow deliberation.

Lisa gasped and her eyes went wide. Fangmon's eyes narrowed to angry, smoldering slits.

Greg went on, ignoring both of their reactions, "That's what you've been called, right? That and _worse_. Whoever said that about you chose those words _because_ they would hurt you, not because they really meant anything. They should have said; Bright, intelligent, creative, sensitive-- and a hundred other good things about you!"

Lisa tried to pull away from Greg but he held her still. "You are _not_ a bad guy because there's _no such thing! _There are good _deeds_ and bad _deeds_ and everybody does some of both. And there are people who do mostly one or the other but that doesn't mean they _can't_ do the opposite. You're not a _label_, you're the total sum of what you _do. _You left a group that shunned you and even gave your partner over to people who tortured and would have eventually killed him. _They_ say that's betraying them-- _I_ say that's just what any _sane_ person would do!"

He let go of her head and stood up. She followed him with her gaze and there were tears in her eyes but she didn't look away from him. "Do you think your partner here would follow just _anyone_?" Greg asked her, indicating Fangmon who was again blinking in puzzlement. "He tore apart half the Pentagon to rescue you! A person who commands that sort of loyalty from someone as powerful as he is-- well, they must really be something exceptional-- and that's _you_, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Then--" Lisa began hesitantly, "what--what do I do now? I thought I was doing good when Fangmon and I were fighting Wild Ones even though the rest of the team--"

"--were insensitive idiots," Greg finished for her.

That got a small smile out of her for a moment. "I just don't want to hurt people," she finished quietly.

"I never wanted to hurt anyone either," Greg said, "I just got-- well, caught up in things I guess. No, I won't ask you to hurt anyone. In fact, I won't ask you to do _anything_ you don't want to-- or even stay here, for that matter. If you want to go back to your family--"

Lisa shook her head emphatically. Greg guessed that either she was an orphan or she had some serious problems at home. But he wasn't about to press her if she didn't want to talk about it. "Okay, then. Why don't you and your toothy pal here go have some fun? I think there's a Metal Tyranomon in the warehouse that's been aching for a sparring match."

Fangmon's head came up with an immediate look of eager interest. Lisa smiled again. "Really? Could we?"

"Yup!" Greg returned her smile. "Just try not to embarrass the big guy too much, okay?"

After they'd scrambled out of the room, Greg flopped down on the couch they'd vacated and idly pulled bits of stuffing out of the rents in the cushions left by Fangmon's claws. Renamon watched him silently until a Commandramon guard brought Gwen into the room.

Greg got up and faced her, saying nothing for a long moment. Gwen was silent, too, but that was mainly because she had been very effectively gagged. Finally, Greg sighed and made a gesture toward the bruise that was beginning to form on her left cheek. "I'm sorry about that." He paused again, then ordered the Commandramon out of the room. "Turn off the cameras and recorders for this room and don't let anyone in."

The Commandramon saluted, snapped, "Understood, Sir!" and left the room.

Greg forced himself to look Gwen in the face. "I'm so sorry for what's going to happen, but I made a promise I'm not willing to break. I--" he shook his head, "I know that-- that there is _something_ I should do or say now, but-- I-- I just can't think of what it should be." He turned and went to the door. He put his hand on the knob, opened the door, and said, "Remember, Renamon, you promised to make it quick. I'll be in the Control Room when you're finished." He didn't move for a long moment and then said softly, "Goodbye Gwen," and shut the door behind him, leaving her alone with Renamon.

Gwen was no fool. She knew exactly what was going to happen. Even though her arms were tied behind her, she crouched into a fighting stance.

"Don't be stupid," Renamon sneered at her, "If you were untied and had an assault rifle, you'd still be no match for me."

"Fufk few, few fufen ffuhk!"Gwen snarled through the gag.

Renamon rose lazily from the couch and stood in front of the woman. "You _never_ were a match for me and I was a fool to think so. Do you know why I made Greg promise your death to me? I was _afraid_ of you! Afraid you could take him away from me!"

Renamon looked her up and down. "They didn't choose you by accident, did they? They knew you were exactly the type of woman Greg's preferred. That's why you were put in the cell next to his-- lean, athletic, blue-eyed, blond-- and _human. _But I've got far more strength in one hand than you do in your entire body! My eyes are bigger, deeper, and bluer that yours! And--" she brought her tail up to wave in a sinuous S curve between them and smiled, "--I'm blond, _everywhere_!"

She grabbed at Gwen with such blinding speed that the woman had no chance to react. She grasped the nylon straps binding her arms and spun her around, placing her mouth right next to the woman's ear. "I win." she hissed.

Gwen tried to kick out at her but found herself pushed off balance and propelled to the door. Renamon thrust her through it and down the hallway. Around two corners they came upon an exit door and a Commandramon guarding it.

"Turn off the alarm and open the door," Renamon commanded him.

"Yes, Ma'am!" he saluted and did as ordered.

Renamon shoved Gwen out the door and then used one hooked black claw to cut away her gag and bonds. Gwen rubbed circulation back into her arms while frowning at Renamon. "You're letting me go?"

"Oh no," Renamon grinned, "I'm just giving you a head start. I've been anticipating this for a long time and I want to _savor_ it."

Gwen quickly looked around. They were in some sort of business park. Beyond the next building there was a mass of trees-- a park or greenbelt of some sort.

"A count of one hundred," Renamon told her, "and then I'll come after you. A slice, a stab, a slash," she continued in a dreamy, sing-song voice, "until you're covered in your own blood-- tripping over your own entrails-- yessss-- and then my fangs in your throat, ripping your soft flesh-- oh how _wonderful_ that will be!"

Gwen's eyes were wide in horror. "You-- you promised Greg--"

"To make it quick? True," Renamon said, pinning her with a merciless, inhuman gaze and shrugging, "but what he doesn't know won't hurt him. Now, _run!_"

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Greg sat with both feet propped up on the control console, his digivice in one hand. He ran through battle sequences automatically-- energy check, card select, modify order, stat check-- over and over, with well-practiced and economical movements. It felt like he'd been sitting there forever.

Then the door opened and Renamon came silently into the room and stood beside him. He didn't look up.

"She's gone," Renamon told him softly.

He nodded and kept thumbing through the sequences-- card select, energy boost, trigger special, modify order--

"She must be _miles_ away by now," Renamon said.

Greg's hand froze. He looked up. "_What?_"

Renamon told him what she'd done.

"And you were _lying_ to her all along?" Greg gaped. "You never intended to go after her?"

"I'm a _warrior_, not a butcher!" Renamon huffed. "But it was _so_ much fun pretending! You know, I think she peed herself a little bit. I'm sure I caught a whiff of--"

Greg burst into deep guffaws of relieved laughter. "Hahaha! Oh-- my-- ghod!" he gasped between laughs. You-- haha-- you _evil_ bitch! I-- hahaha-- I-- _adore_ you!"

She gently stroked his tear-stained cheek with the back of her fingers. "I know," she said.

He reached up and pulled her hand around to where he could kiss her palm. "I think we should--" he stopped and looked at the bank of monitors. "Did you see that?"

Renamon looked up. "What do you mean?"

"I thought I caught something out of the corner of my eye. A weird movement." They both continued staring at the monitors and Greg flipped on the cameras for the Common Room but nothing seemed out of place. "Maybe I was just-- no, wait! There it is again. That camera looked like it moved! 'Storage Room 2,'" he read off the panel. "That's upstairs, isn't it? Next to--" he pointed to the camera that covered the hallway outside of the room and they both saw it then, a sudden brief blur as if something had passed too close to the lens to be in focus and then the empty hallway again-- but at a slightly different angle, leaving a narrow bit of wall out of range of the camera.

Greg looked at the diagram that indicated the status of all exterior doors, windows, and skylights in the facility. All were closed and locked-- according to the sensors. But something definitely odd was going on and Greg knew someone who went through locked and alarmed doors like they were turnstiles.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Hi Gwen!" Greg said loudly and cheerfully from directly behind her as she leaned with one ear against a door, jimmying the lock with what looked like a strip of metal torn from a soda can.

"_SHIT!_" she screamed in shock as she dropped the improvised pick and spun to throw a flurry of kicks and punches at him.

He dodged by moving just enough to make her blows miss by less than an inch. "You are frikkin' _amazing_, you know that? To come back in here where all the shaggy-nasties live? Girl, you've got more _cojones_ than a regiment of Marines!""

Gwen gave up trying to hit him and stood there, still crouched and breathing quickly. "The last place you'd think to look, though, isn't it? What tripped me up?"

"Just bad luck. I happened to be looking at the screen when you placed your little device up there." He motioned to the room's camera that had a bit of broken mirror positioned just in front of the lens, held in place by a flattened soda can and a couple of pieces of chewing gum. "Nice bit of improvising, that."

Gwen did a sudden skip back and hit the door with a powerful back-kick. It flew open and she spun to leap through it,, only to find her way blocked by a tall, golden-furred figure. Renamon raised her huge hands and wiggled her fearsome claws in a playful way. "Grr, argh," she said.

Gwen looked quickly back and forth between the two of them and then screamed in outraged indignation, "You _assholes!_ You're screwing with me!"

"Yup," Greg nodded, "That's one of the benefits of being a bad guy. I can act like a total jerk any time I want to. In fact, it's kind of _expected_ from me."

Renamon leaned over, pointing her nose at Gwen's lower body and sniffed delicately. "Yes, I was right-- she wet 'em."

Gwen had gone so red in the face that Greg began to worry that she'd have a stroke. "Okay, okay! Calm down! You might not know it yet, but the war's over. No more enemies, okay?"

Gwen's breathing slowed. "You're not going to kill me?"

"Oh, _hell_ no!" Greg laughed. "You're a masterpiece, Gwen! I'd sooner set fire to the Mona Lisa! C'mon downstairs and I'll get you some lunch-- and a change of clothes."

Renamon snickered.


	21. Lunch

Chapter 21  
Lunch

Greg met Lisa as she returned from the warehouse. She was riding on Fangmon's shoulders and he was holding his head high and proud and there was a definite strut to his stride. Lisa was smiling and her face was flushed. Greg assumed the sparring had gone well.

When Lisa saw Greg standing in the hallway, she lost her smile and she ducked her head slightly.

"Would you guys like some lunch?" Greg asked nonchalantly, "Gwen will be joining us."

Lisa looked up in surprise. "She's not--?"

"No," Greg assured her, "she's fine. Renamon decided that a stern teasing was enough-- well, okay, a _vicious_ teasing-- but we're satisfied with where things stand for now. I take it from Fangmon's smug expression that you guys had some good bouts with old metal-head?"

Lisa's face burst out in a smile again. "Oh yes! Metal Tyranomon isn't as dumb or slow as you'd think and he's _really_ strong, but Fangy and I beat him three out of four! We've never fought on our own before and I was kinda nervous but--"

Lisa chatted happily all the way to the Dining Hall.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

All of them sat around a long table except for Fangmon, who lay in a corner of the room, curled around a chunk of meat that looked to Greg like an entire hind leg of a cow. A Commandramon set plates down in from of each of them, and then poured drinks for everyone.

Gwen hadn't eaten for almost and entire day and tore into her omelet, wolfing down the food until she looked across the table and saw Renamon taking small, lady-like bites of her food, her huge hands handling the utensils with delicate grace. Gwen frowned and forced herself to slow down. When she did, she suddenly realized that the omelet was superb. "Don't tell me you're a culinary genius, too," she half-growled at Greg, "I don't think I'd be able to stand it."

"Me?" Greg laughed, "Oh God, no! I could burn _soup!_ It's Commandramon there that did the cooking." He gestured with his chopsticks to where the soldier dragon had once again taken up a guard position next to the main door.

"Really?" Gwen asked in surprise. "_You_ made this?"

"Um--" Comandramon's claws shifted nervously on the grip of his assault rifle."Yes, Ma'am. I-- I _enjoy_ cooking. I find that it relaxes me."

"He makes the best burgers, ever!" Lisa put in, holding up her half-eaten sandwich.

"Don't be so surprised, Gwen," Greg said, "Even if they look a lot alike, they're still individuals, with different tastes and interests. Yeah, I know the fact that all of the name tags on their uniforms read 'Commandramon' is confusing, but it's easy enough to tell them apart if you try. I call him Chefdramon, if that's any help."

"Why do you even bother?" Gwen asked.

There was a brief silence around the table. "Because they're _people_, Gwen." Greg said softly.

She looked at him like he was insane. "No they're not. They're _things_ that you _made_. Computer programs, complex robots, but not _people_."

Greg put down his chopsticks and looked Gwen hard in the eyes. "I've _tried_ to make digimon 'robots'-- ones that would mindlessly obey me-- and it doesn't work. If they don't have free will from the start, they just stand around like empty sock-puppets. Oh, I can control the other ones-- _force_ them to do what I want-- but that's no different from coercing or enslaving a human being. And no less an evil act, I'm ashamed to say. None of my troops have Black Rings on them now. I've learned my lesson."

"We caught some of those," Gwen said. "They didn't last long after we--"

Renamon flicked her fork across the table. It hit the back of Gwen's chair just beside her head and buried its tines in the polished oak.

"Hint taken," Gwen muttered, and returned her attention to her omelet.

"If you don't like the word 'people,'" Greg continued, "then at least think of them as 'sentient beings' or 'aliens' with their own needs and desires. People have always wondered how we would react to a 'First Contact' situation. Well, now we know, and it didn't do the human race much credit."

Gwen glared at him for a moment and then put down her fork. "If I can express an opinion without getting impaled?" she asked Renamon.

Renamon blinked lazily and then looked off toward a corner of the room-- as if nothing that interested her was happening at the table.

"That is a load of California Liberal bullshit." Gwen continued, her voice calm, even though her words were passionate. "It doesn't matter what you call them-- they're _invaders_. I swore an oath to protect and defend the United States, not every damn 'sentient being' that wanders by."

"Yeah?" Greg snapped back, "and how's that working out for you? A couple of million citizens of the US got 'protected' into radioactive ash! And that dentist's wet-dream over there--" he gestured to where Fangmon was stripping hand-sized chunks of raw meat off his cow leg, "--was working for _you_ until a little while ago. So, let me guess-- there are _bad_ invaders and _good_ invaders, right? Your morals hinge mostly on convenience, it seems."

Gwen's expression went icy-cold. "How it's worked out for me is that I've failed, even though I did everything I could to stop you. And you-- you've betrayed and destroyed your own country. Does that make you feel like a hero?"

Greg took a moment to get his anger under control and then said, "You seem to be confusing the political and military leaders with the nation as a whole. Those leaders are off on a nice, permanent vacation, and the _citizens-- _ the _real_ America-- well, they're doing just _fine_."

"For how long?" Gwen shot back. "Without the government, all the infrastructure will fall apart within weeks. And that's if some other country doesn't decide to waltz in and take us over! With our military's command structure gone, who would there be to stop them?"

"Oh, please!" Greg snorted, "you think I didn't plan for that?"

Gwen's eyes went wide. "Oh, God, what did you do?"

"I did a convincing imitation of Santa Claus," Greg smirked. "Oh, don't look at me like I'm crazy! What I did was hand out presents to all the good little girls and boys-- and _bad_ ones, and _adults-- _ all in one night. And all over the world, too, not just _my_ country."

"_What_ presents?" Gwen asked, an icy chill running down her spine.

Greg reached back into a satchel that hung from the back of his chair and removed a small object. It was round and red and about the size of his fist. He held it up and said, "What I gave them was _power_. The power to change the world in any way they see fit. That's what the assholes in the ex-government always told me-- that the sort of power I commanded shouldn't be in the hands of one person. That no single person had the right to make such sweeping changes. Well, they should be happy now that _everyone_ has that power. Very democratic, right?" He rolled the object across the table to her. "Here's yours-- even though you're on my 'naughty' list."

Gwen caught the little red sphere and looked closely at it. There was a slightly recessed button surrounded by a dial that lit up with several words as Gwen touched it: Transform; Invite; Information; Gate.

"Touch the word 'Information' and it'll give you complete instructions on how to use it,' Greg told her. "Basically, it'll enable you to transform the landscape around you for about a mile or so, including making buildings and clothes and food and so-on. . You can send out a signal that will invite different types of digimon or people to your location and it'll act as a net terminal, or-- if you're feeling brave-- open a gate to the Digital Dimension."

"You _are_ crazy!" Gwen shouted. "One evil genius was one too many! Now there will be thousands of people out there trying to start their own digital armies! And in a city as dense as New York, with everyone trying to transform their surroundings? It''ll be unbelievable chaos! With everyone able to do whatever they want, who will control things?"

"Eh," Greg shrugged, "I'm sure it'll work itself out after a while. People are more adaptable than you give them credit for. And I _did_ reserve a little bit of authority over it all-- just in case."

"What-- you're going to be the final judge of all humanity?" Gwen sneered. "You give megalomania a bad name!"

"Jeeze, Gwen!" Greg shook his head in mock sadness. "And you can be so charming when you want to!" He pulled a little tablet computer from his pocket and glanced at it. "Mm-- good timing! C'mon, let's take a little walk."

"Ooh!" Lisa said with sudden interest. She had been keeping her head down, seemingly avoiding the argument at the head of the table while actually listening carefully. "Is it _him?_ Can I come, too? I want to see!"

"Lead the way!" Greg told her.

They all walked out of the building. The first thing Gwen was aware of was a sound like distant thunder but with a strong metallic quality. The little hairs on the back of her neck went up, much like they would have on a day when a powerful thunderstorm was about to break. But there was only one cloud in the sky, a long, twisting white cloud that stretched across the sky nearly from one horizon to the other and looked remarkably like a dragon bound in chains.

"Oh my God," Gwen breathed in sudden realization, "that isn't a cloud!"

"That is Azulongmon, the Great Sovereign," Greg told her.

"I know," she replied, "I've watched the series-- I recognize him now. But he's-- he's so-- _God, _a cartoon is one thing-- this thing is _terrifying!_ And you're giving over the rule of humanity to--" Gwen waved her hand at the sky, unable to sum up the incredible creature in words.

"Him and the other three Sovereigns," Greg confirmed. "And they're not really rulers. They won't interfere unless things get too far out of balance, and their presence will be a constant reminder for people to 'play nice.' It's the best solution I could come up with on short notice. I wanted everything to be as stable as possible before I leave."

The immense dragon digimon flowed through the sky, the distant sound of his chains rumbling as if in warning, until the last sweeping movement of his tail faded into the mist on the horizon.

"That was so _cool!_" Lisa whispered.

"Leaving?" Gwen asked, turning her gaze down from the empty sky.

"Yes," Greg said, "The world holds too many bad memories for me. I have a few things to take care of and then I'll head off to the Digital Dimension. I guess I won't be seeing you again, Gwen. In a weird, twisted sort of way, it's been fun."

From the reactions of Renamon and Lisa, Gwen gathered that Greg's announcement was just as much of a surprise to them as it was to her. "So you're just screwing up the entire planet and then _running away?_" she sneered.

"Put it however you want it, Gwen," Greg sighed, "If you don't like the shape the world's in, fix it yourself," he reached out and tapped the red sphere she was still holding, "you have the power, now."

"So does everybody else," she said sourly.

"Ah, but cleverness has to count for something, and you are a very _clever_ woman." Greg grinned, putting an emphasis on the word that indicated he meant something else, entirely.

"I'm coming with you, right?" Lisa asked in a quiet, unsteady voice. Renamon said nothing but watched Greg carefully.

Greg looked down at her and frowned sadly, "Lisa-- digitizing will freeze you at the age you are now. If you come, you'll never have a chance to grow up."

"I'm _sixteen_ next month!" she said emphatically."I'm just small and skinny for my age!"

"Well, even sixteen is--"

"And what's so great about growing up, anyway? I could turn out like_ her!_" Lisa finished, pointing an angry finger at Gwen.

"Good point," Greg admitted. "Listen, we'll work something out. I need a few more days to wrap things up, anyway. For now, let's all go back inside and finish our meal. Chefdramon makes some kick-ass deserts."

Lisa nodded, still looking slightly unhappy.

"Not for me, thanks," Gwen said. "If you don't mind, I think I'd better get started on damage control." She waved her red sphere for emphasis.

"Not too much power for one individual to handle?" Greg gently chided her. "Well, good luck, anyway, though I doubt you'll need it. You're a very capable woman, Gwen. You'll probably be running your own kingdom by this time next year."

Gwen didn't immediately reply but a thoughtful expression crept across her features. "Well-- who knows?" she said finally.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

After lunch Lisa had taken Fangmon up to the roof to watch the skyline of the city ripple and change, leaving Greg and Renamon alone together in the Common Room.

Renamon watched him silently as he ran through several screens on his computer and then, when it seemed as if he had reached a stopping point asked him, "So, what _are_ your plans for the future? Do they include me?"

He looked up in surprise and then gazed sadly into her face for a few moments. "That's for _you_ to say, Renamon. You're not my slave or my servant."

She narrowed her sapphire eyes. "You've been acting strangely ever since you were with Gwen when she woke up this morning. It's still not too late for me to run her down and gut her like a trout, you know."

"No, it's not her fault-- exactly. She just made me realize some things--" Greg shook his head. "We can talk about all that later. Right now we need to go get my parents. They've been in protective custody for a while. It's a good thing the government put them in a nice place or that prison world I built for them all would have involved a lot more molten lava. Once we get them settled and safe, I'll want to look in on Terminus Village and then--"

"Then--?" Renamon echoed.

"Then-- before anything else-- before I make any more plans-- I'd like to spend one perfect day, alone with you."

Renamon smiled. "That will be wonderful."

Greg forced himself to smile back at her. _I wish I could believe that,_ he thought.


	22. Loose Ends

**Disclaimer:**

** I have thoughtlessly used the name Funakoshi in relation to the Shotokan school of karate in this story. The name is real, as is the school, and I meant only respect when I included them. I thought about going back and editing the references out, but the names I came up with to replace them sounded stupid and phony to me and so, for now, I'm continuing to use them. But please understand that their usage in this story is completely fictional and not meant to portray any real persons, school, or philosophy of martial arts.**

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Chapter 22  
Loose Ends

Given the god-like power to transform their world and the added unique ability that he provided to freeze their creation so that nobody could undo their work, Greg's parents chose to make a place remarkably like the retirement community they had been living in before their lives had been turned upside down.

He had taken Renamon along with him to meet them but after seeing the appalled looks on their faces when his parents had first seen her, he asked his partner to wait for him at one of their safe houses.

"They always hoped I'd give up on my transient girlfriends and settle down with someone," he told her later, "but when I finally bring my dream-girl home, they--" he didn't even want to _think_ about the hurtful things they'd said to him after Renamon had left, "--they get all-- _funny_ about it-- go figure."

"They seemed--" Renamon groped for something appropriate and finished lamely, "--nice."

"Boring, you mean," Greg grinned. "Well, at least they'll be comfortable now-- and safe from all the changes happening in the rest of the world." He paused and sighed. "They _begged_ me to put things back the way they used to be. You know, I really didn't expect it to be _this_ chaotic. People seem just as intent on messing up everybody else's fantasy as they are about creating their own."

Renamon nodded. "There's been an inland sea down in the valley there about three times while I've been waiting for you. Somebody else seems to think it ought to be the sort of orchards that are there now and it keeps switching back-- oops, there it goes again!"

They watched as the apple trees disappeared under a rising flood of sparkling water. Gulls and pelicans swooped in from nowhere and off in the distance a pod of dolphins leaped and cavorted through the gentle waves.

"I guess they haven't discovered that the changes are biased by numbers yet," Greg said. "Nobody ever reads the damn manual!"

"Or the orchard and ocean favoring groups may have nearly equal numbers of people," Renamon said thoughtfully.

"Naw," Greg said, "I bet it's just two hard-headed twits fixated on this particular valley-- combat over cooperation to the detriment of both. Oh, well-- not my problem any more."

"You _do_ have one more responsibility," Renamon reminded him.

"Ah, yes-- Lisa," Greg said, nodding. "I think I've come up with something. I hope she'll like it."

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Lisa's legs trembled and she panted for breath.

"Do you want to stop?" Greg asked her, concerned.

"No," the girl gasped, "I _want_-- to do this-- I-- just didn't realize-- how _big_ it was! Keep-- keep going!"

"Okay," Greg said, encouragingly, "just a little bit more-- it'll be worth it, I promise."

Lisa nodded and climbed another step. And then another, and another, Greg and Renamon keeping close to her sides in case she might stumble. Fangmon flowed up the steps behind his tamer, making unhappy grumbling noises deep in his throat. Greg was truly amazed at the girl's determination. They had already climbed many hundreds of feet above the valley floor, through one layer of fine clouds, and the air was noticeably thinner and colder.

The tall, narrow mountain they were climbing was, indeed, much bigger than it had looked from below. It certainly was higher than the ones that had once surrounded the Southern Bay Area-- the one-time Silicon Valley. But everything had changed, of course. Greg could have summoned a Pteramon or two to fly them all to the sprawling Japanese-style building that topped the mountain but, once he had seen the castle, he had known in his heart who its creator must have been. Climbing up the hard way was the correct thing to do.

They finally reached the top. Greg felt a bit guilty-- the climb hadn't been much of a bother for his rebuilt body or for the digimon that accompanied them, but Lisa was covered in sweat, exhausted and nearly on the verge of collapse. He motioned the group to sit on the broad flagstone platform that fronted the huge gates of the main building and they waited patiently until Lisa regained her breath.

"You up for this?" Greg asked her.

Yes," she said, handing his water bottle back to him after taking a long swallow. "Do we knock, or--"

As they approached the doors, the two giant guardian dogs on either side moved to bar their way. Everyone had been so concerned for Lisa that they hadn't noticed that the Foo-Dogs _weren't_ statues.

The huge muscles in their shoulders flexed and rolled as they stepped down from the platforms where they had been sitting. "You may not enter," one enormous beast said. "Go away," the other one added.

"Chatsuramon, Ultimate, Data, Exalted Beast type, umm-- Metal Empire, I think," Lisa said, without referring to her digivice.

"Good!" Greg complimented her.

"Go _away!_" the second Chatsuramon repeated, more forcefully.

Fangmon crouched and bared his teeth-- which he had more of than both the Chatsuramon combined-- but he was still only a single Champion.

Renamon casually stepped forward and squeezed her fists until her knuckles popped like gunshots. "It's a long way down-- _puppies_," she purred.

The Chatsuramon snarled and prepared to leap but Greg held up one hand to forestall them. "As fun as a little brawl would be right now, I think I'd better introduce myself." he bowed to the dog digimon-- a very formal, very shallow bow that was correct for one of high station addressing the trusted retainers of a higher lord. When he straightened, he spoke one short phrase that acted on the guardians like a magic spell, "_Watashi wa Funakoshi no yondan desu._"

Both Chatsuramon backed away immediately and bowed as low as possible. "Forgive us, sensei!" one muttered.

"You guard the Master's house as you should," Greg told them as he motioned his group toward the doors, "there is nothing to forgive."

They didn't need to knock. As they approached, the huge doors swung open just wide enough to frame an old man in a plain black kimono. His hair was gray but he stood straight and radiated a feeling of confident power. Greg knelt and bowed as far as possible with one fist on the floor. "_Sensei Funakoshi_," he said, with a tone of respect in his voice that none of his party had ever heard him use before. Everyone else got the hint and gave their own various versions of a bow. Fangmon's was a bit odd but it seemed sincere.

The old man bowed back and then motioned them all to rise. "Better than the gym at Santa Clara, isn't it Greg?" he said, making a gesture to indicate the massive castle behind him. The skin around his eyes crinkled when he smiled.

Greg grinned. "When I saw it, I _knew_ who must have created it, sensei_._"

Master Funakoshi lead them through the outer courtyard and into an inner room. From somewhere in the complex came the sounds of bare feet, stomping on a polished wood floor and the clack of wooden weapons meeting.

"Are many of your students here, sensei?" Greg asked as they sat down before a low table.

A young man in a plain white gi with a belt of the same color moved among them, serving tea.

"Many old ones," the Master replied, "and even some new ones. They have kept this mountain very stable. I have no worries on that account."

Greg smiled. Master Funakoshi had certainly studied the instructions that had come with his red sphere-- "knowledge is power" was not just a saying for _him_. "Is there room for one more student, sensei?" Greg asked him.

The old man's gaze turned to Lisa who sat, clutching her tea cup and trying to go unnoticed. "It is easy enough to _make_ more room," he said quietly, "if anyone should come and ask to be admitted."

Lisa put down her tea and bowed deeply from her sitting position. "Sensei Funakoshi, I beg you to allow me to learn from you!"

The Master didn't reply to Lisa directly but turned to Greg and said, "She has nice manners. Like in the old days before all you had to do was sign up for a class and pay your fee."

"You like the changes, then?" Greg asked.

"They certainly have made the world a more interesting place-- and a _different_ one, in some respects."

Greg knew that the old man was hinting at something. It was his way to introduce a potentially difficult topic in a subtle and indirect manner. Greg thought for a moment and then said, "In the old days women were not taught the art."

The old man grinned but shook his head. "That is a tradition better left unrevived, I think. Looking to the future I can see that there will be even more to teach-- and to learn." He reached into the sleeve of his kimono and withdrew a digivice and set it on the table beside his tea.

"Ah," Greg said. "Yes-- _new_ arts. Might I make a recommendation?"

"I would welcome it."

"My young friend here," Greg said, indicating Lisa with a nod, "has some degree of skill in the new art. I cannot say for sure that there is anyone _more_ skilled, in fact. If there are students here with _partners_--" a nod in Fangmon's direction, "--or who wish to acquire one-- perhaps Lisa can _instruct_ as well as learn?"

"That seems to me to be a nicely balanced arrangement-- if she is willing."

"Oh, I _am!_" Lisa blurted out, and then belatedly added, "_sensei,_" and bowed again.

The old man smiled and said, "Will you walk with me, Greg? I will have some food brought for your friends."

"Yes, sensei." Greg rose and left the room with him.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

They stayed at the school until evening and had dinner with the rest of the students. Master Funakoshi never told Lisa directly that she had been accepted but guided her to a seat with the white belts and asked her to introduce herself.

They were in awe of Fangmon but a couple of them had doubts about how long Lisa herself would last. "Sensei's going to make you fetch water in a bucket, you know," one of them told her.

"What's so hard abut that?" she asked doubtfully.

"From the stream at the foot of the mountain," the boy clarified-- and took a bit of smug satisfaction at the look of dawning realization on Lisa's face. Her expression of horror didn't last long, though. It was replaced with one of grim determination.

"Well-- _that_ will get me in shape pretty quick, won't it?"

It earned her the grudging respect of everyone at the table.

After dinner, they said their farewells on the edge of the mountain stairs.

"You'll be fine Lisa," Greg told her, "_better_ than fine, I'm sure."

"Thank you, Greg," she said quietly. "You'll-- you-- will you--"

"Oh, I'll be back to check up on you, you can bet on it! So no slacking off, you hear?" He frowned in mock sternness and was rewarded by one of her shy smiles.

After the school's doors closed behind them with a heavy thud, Greg and Renamon stood looking out across the bay in the evening light. To the North, glittering towers of green glass rose high into the sky, paused, and then shrank down into the deepening gloom as if in fast-reverse. "Still sorting things out," Greg mumbled, "I wonder how long it will take before things stabilize."

"Knowing humans," Renamon said, "it may _never_ happen in more than a few places like this." She shrugged. "But it will be their own fault and nothing to do with us."

"It doesn't bother you?" Greg asked.

"No," she said, slipping an arm around him and resting her head on his shoulder. "And it won't bother you either-- after a while. You'll see."

Despite himself, he returned her embrace. "Sometimes I feel like I've given loaded guns to a bunch of grade school children. Look at that!" He pointed to the half-dozen whirling tornadoes of fire that danced along the edge of the bay, "Who the hell thought _that_ would be a good idea?"

Renamon's ears twitched. "Something's coming," she said, turning to look toward the South.

Greg heard it then; the roar of powerful engines approaching fast. "Oh ghod, _now_ what?" he groaned. Moments later, a huge flying craft flashed by only a hundred feet below the mountaintop but climbing rapidly.

"Odd aircraft," Renamon commented.

"_Space_craft," Greg corrected. "That was a Firefly Class bulk transport." He followed the ship as it continued to climb nearly vertically into the sky. In the early evening sky, only a few stars were visible and the one that the spaceship seemed to be heading for was a clear, untwinkling red. Greg began to smile."Okay, _now_ I feel better about things. While everybody is stepping on each other's toes trying to be Captain fucking Planet, those guys are going off to their _own_ planet!" He watched until he could no longer make out the speck of the spaceship. "Big damn heroes, " he said softly. "I hope they make it."

/\/\/\/\/\/\

They returned to the house overlooking the inland sea-- which was a valley full of apple orchards at the time-- and Greg told Renamon that there was some work he needed to do before they went to Terminus Village to look in on the exiled politicians.

"You might as well get some sleep," he told her, "I don't know how long this is going to take."

"I don't mind keeping you company," she said.

"Well-- I need to concentrate," he said.

"Oh," Renamon blinked at him uncertainly, "Alright then." He had never wanted privacy for work before. She knew well enough when he was deep in some problem and always refrained from interrupting him.

"Great," he said a little wistfully and then hugged her tightly. "I love you."

Renamon was puzzled. Greg was acting stranger by the hour and she was concerned. She thought it over for a while as she watched the valley fill and the moon's reflection dance on the waves. Then she turned and went through the house to the large converted barn in the back that served as Greg's work area. She slipped in silently, moving in the shadows. If Greg glanced up, he wouldn't see her. If he examined the corner of the room carefully, he'd see her-- but he wouldn't _notice_ her.

She watched him work at his computer station. Nothing unusual there. She came closer until she could see what was displayed on the screen. It was meaningless to her; numbers, charts, and graphs with complex labels.

Greg seemed to be running a simulation. He ran it over and over again with different parameters for several hours. Renamon still couldn't see why he would have wanted to be alone but she stayed, watching. She noticed something on the desk beside the computer; a large manila envelope with her name written in large letters across its surface. She slowly lifted the end of the envelope and examined it. It was sealed shut. She didn't think that she'd be able to take it away and open it without Greg noticing so she let it back down again.

Some hours after midnight, Greg sighed and pushed himself away from the computer. He paced up and down for a few minutes and then returned to the machine and moved the mouse, clicking it once.

The digital gate that stood against one wall came to life, glowing and humming on a frequency that was even lower than Renamon could hear. But she could feel it in her body-- and it felt different, unsteady. Then the vibration began to heterodyne, the pulses growing stronger by the instant. Renamon looked at Greg, but he was calmly watching the gate. It was something he had expected to happen.

There was a sudden blurring of the gate's structure and then it split, and there were _two_ gates in the room. They were about six feet apart and facing each other. The vibration smoothed out and sank to a normal level.

Greg walked to the gates and stood between them, facing the left-hand one. He hesitated, took one step toward the gate and then backed away. He stood there, hands clenching for a while and then returned to the computer and ran the familiar simulation again. The results looked exactly the same as the last dozen times to Renamon. Greg sighed and touched the envelope with her name on it, then returned to the gates.

This time he didn't hesitate. He walked through the left-hand gate and disappeared. Moments later he reappeared from the right-hand gate, shivering and breathing hard. He stood there for a while and caught his breath. He looked down at his hands and turned them over as if there was something odd about them. Finally he walked back toward the desk and just before he reached it he looked directly at Renamon and stopped.

"W-- what are you doing here?" he asked. He didn't seem angry-- just puzzled.

Renamon's only reaction to the sudden realization that Greg could easily see her was a brief blink. "I-- I heard a noise," she lied, "just now. A loud crackle like a static discharge. I wanted to make sure you were all right."

"Huh," Greg said to himself, "it shouldn't have made any noise-- well, it doesn't matter. Uh--" his eyes flicked down to the envelope for a split second and he moved to place himself between it and Renamon. "Let's go eat something, okay?" He gestured to the door. "Go ahead. I'll be out in a second."

Renamon couldn't very well refuse. She went back into the house and Greg joined her a moment later. They walked out onto the porch in the pre-dawn light to see the ocean below them dotted with numerous islands, all covered with apple trees.

"Hey," Greg cried in amazement, "Look at that! Finally a little cooperation between--" His praise was cut short as all the islands erupted into flames, incinerating the trees. "Oh for-- screw this!" he said, turning back into the house. "Let's go get breakfast in Terminus Village!"

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

**Author's Note:**

** Thanks to You-Know-Who for giving me a good line for this chapter!**


	23. One Perfect Day

**Author's Note:**

** The unexpurgated version of this chapter is in the story: **_**An Extra Loop in the Snake.**_

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Chapter 23  
One Perfect Day

General Greenwaldt took his usual sidewalk table at the café and moments later his usual coffee appeared. He lifted it off the top of the digimon's shell, and couldn't help wondering, again, how a creature with no apparent hands could be such a good waiter. The coffee was perfect and went a long way to easing his discomfort at patronizing a restaurant named The Ham and Eggs Café that was run by a giant egg with feet and a slightly anthropomorphized boar.

He used the café as an unofficial office in the mornings and was used to all sorts of people dropping by to talk about the various business going on in the town. As might be expected in a village full of politicians, there were many different factions making many different plans for the future. The General had brought together a good group of military men under his influence and was courted by many of the other groups as a powerful ally.

That day he expected to be approached by the President-- _ex_-President, he reminded himself-- who was desperate to gain some influence with a faction-- _any_ faction, but his first visitor that morning was someone wholly unexpected.

"Good morning, General," Greg said cheerfully, "mind if I join you?" While the General was still gaping in surprise, Greg dropped his backpack next to the table and pulled out a chair and sat down. Renamon didn't sit, but stood behind her tamer with her arms folded across her chest, her cool gaze fixed somewhere in the middle distance.

"Why are you here?" The General demanded, bluntly.

"I hear they make a great sausage omelet," Greg said, glancing at the menu, distractedly.

"I don't have time for your bullshit," the general snapped, "are you here to help us or harm us?"

"General," Greg sighed, "you have nothing _but_ time. You may not have realized it yet, but because all of you in this world are now digital constructs, you won't age or even die-- unless you're killed or-- well, I'll let you find out for yourselves. Anyway, forever is a very, _very_ long time."

"You've underestimated us before," the general said, though in a more subdued tone of voice. "We're already making plans--"

"Plans to help those people who are still so frightened of this place that they won't leave the platform at the train station? Plans to explore this world? It's been _days_ and nobody's even been as far as the hot springs in the mountains above town!"

The General glared at him for a moment and then growled out, "_Escape_ plans."

Greg laughed out loud. "Oh ghod, have you started a tunnel yet? I'll save you some trouble, General. You're on an island about half the size of Australia, surrounded by about 500 miles of ocean on every side. If you sail North far enough, you'll just come back to the South coast and vice-versa. This is a self-contained, rather small universe-- there _is _no escape."

"If there's a way _in_, there's a way _out_," Greenwaldt persisted.

"Tell that to a black hole," Greg said.

"So-- you're staying with us, then?" the general asked, watching keenly for Greg's reaction.

"Ah-- not _so_ stupid are you?" Greg said, leaning back in his chair and lacing his fingers behind his head. "I suppose there could possibly be a couple of ways that people _might _find out of here if they are smart enough, persistent enough and prove themselves to be worthy of--"

"Is that what we are to you?" Greenwaldt growled, "rats in a maze?"

"Oh, that's harsh!" Greg grinned. "Think of it more like a game! You might even enjoy it."

"You arrogant little prick! You're going to pay for treating me like this!" the general bellowed, going red in the face, "I'm going to _make_ you pay!"

Greg gaped for a moment in surprise before breaking into laughter, "Oh ghod, that's hilarious! Good luck with _that!_"

Greenwalt snapped. He rose, threw aside the table, and lunged for Greg, all in one movement. Neither he nor any of the crowd that had gathered saw Renamon move. She just seemed to appear between the two men and there was the sound of a heavy impact. Greenwaldt smashed through tables and chairs as he rolled over and over, finally hitting a planter of flowers that separated the dining area from the street. He tried to rise but the world swam around him and he fell back against the planter, a thin trickle of blood dripping from one nostril.

"Sorry about that, General," Greg said in a cheerful voice that belied his words, "Renamon can get a little over-protective at times." Greg picked up his backpack and shouldered it. "I think we should be going now, anyway. Don't get up-- I know the way out."

The crowd parted for the two of them like they were made of red-hot metal.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

"I'm sorry to have started out our day together by smashing up a restaurant," Greg said as they hiked along a path that lead up into the mountains above the town, "but I needed to plant that little bit of information about the hidden ways out of this world. Good thing the general played right into my hands and about half a hundred people were eavesdropping . Well-- nothing but fun from now on, I promise."

"Oh, that's all right," Renamon said. "Getting to slug the guy who had you kidnapped _was_ fun. I hope you noticed how much restraint I used."

"No missing body parts, hardly any blood--" Greg grinned, "I'd say you were practically demure."

After an hour of walking they came to a quaint, rambling building at the mouth of a hanging valley. Renamon paused and carefully sniffed the air. "Hot springs?" she asked Greg.

"Yep! Springs, baths, good food, massages-- I thought it would be a good way to relax," he said. "In fact, I happen to know that they have a very good sushi chef who makes terrific _inarizushi_ and-- hey! Wait for me!"

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Greg picked up a bit of sushi rice, made a little ball, and flicked it at Renamon, who had leaned back from the table. She snapped it out of the air and held it in her mouth, rolling it between her tongue and teeth for a while before she swallowed it.

"That's it," she sighed, "If I eat another bite, I'll explode!" She patted her stomach in satisfaction. "Would it be slothful to take a nap before noon?"

Greg shook his head, "This is our vacation-- we can do what we like, sinful or not!"

"Oh, good!" Renamon said, and crawled across the room on all fours to the futon and flopped down on her side. "Join me?"

"In a minute," he replied. The room had grown warm as the sun climbed into the sky, so Greg slid aside the screens that served as its outer wall, revealing a large porch and a spectacular view of the valley below. A cool, gentle breeze made the temperature perfect and set the wind-chimes hung along the eaves to tinkling softly. He summoned one of the inn's digimon to clear away the remains of their meal and left instructions that they were not to be disturbed except for something dire. By the time he knelt next to the futon, Renamon was breathing slowly and deeply. He gazed down at her lovingly, slipped out of his kimono, and lay down next to her. She mumbled something in her sleep and slipped her arm around him.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

A while later Renamon woke him, with her hands and mouth caressing his body. He turned to her eagerly and they made love in an intense, energetic struggle and then fell asleep in each other's arms again.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

When they finally got up it was late afternoon. They showered and then Greg led Renamon down to the massage rooms. Two granite Gotsumon were waiting for them, towels draped over their arms.

"I'm not sure about this," Renamon said doubtfully.

"I've done it for you often enough," Greg said, "and these guys are experts."

"Yes, but I _trust_ you," she grumbled, looking down at the rocky little Gotsumon masseurs.

"Don't worry, they're very professional," he reassured her.

"I suppose--" she said as she lay down on the massage table. And then to the Gotsumon, "Just one finger goes someplace I don't like-- and you're _gravel_, understand?"

"Of _course_, Ma'am," the Gotsumon said, sounding a bit offended.

A few minutes into the massage and _Greg_ was having doubts. Not about the skill of the masseuses-- they were just as skillful as he'd promised. Their hard, granite fingers seemingly able to put just the right amount of pressure exactly where it was needed. No, what bothered him was the noises that Renamon was making. She was gasping and giving out soft little moans of pleasure like she was-- well-- getting something _more_ than a massage. But as his own muscles were being tended just as well, it was hard to concentrate on anything else.

At the finish the Gotsumon rubbed scented oils into Greg's skin and Renamon's fur, Renamon first sniffing at several bottles until she found one she liked enough to choose for them both.

"A walk before dinner?" Greg suggested as they left the room.

"Mn-hmn," she nodded, her eyes still somewhat unfocused. "Oh, that felt so good!" She stretched luxuriously, her arms up, her hands combing through the rear of her neck ruff.

"Or maybe we could go back to our room," Greg said, watching her appreciatively.

She grinned wickedly at him and prolonged her stretch, pointing one foot and lifting her leg, just so-- turning it into a long, graceful sweep of powerful curves.

"Or maybe I'll attack you right here in the hallway."

"Haven't had enough of me, yet?" she purred.

"Never," he said.

Renamon glanced around and then grabbed a fistful of the front of Greg's robe and pulled him toward a door marked, "linens". She shoved him inside and closed the door behind them both.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

After another shower, they went out into the formal garden where a table had been set for dinner in an open-air pavilion hung with multi-colored lanterns. The smell of roasting meat flavored the air.

"I hope they've cooked an entire horse!" Renamon murmured, "I'm _starving!_"

"I am sorry, Renamon-sama," a little digimon waiter said, overhearing her, "We only have beef, chicken, pork, and lamb. We didn't know you preferred--"

"That's all right," Greg interrupted him, "We'll be fine. If the chow-hound here wants a horse for desert, she can run it down herself!"

"Careful," Renamon growled playfully, "I might just start with a big bite of wise-ass for an appetizer!"

They laughed and chatted through dinner, enjoying the meal as well as the lively music that several Gazimon banged out on unusual instruments. The inn's chef endeared himself to Renamon by presenting her with a tiny chocolate cake for desert-- in the shape of a horse.

"Dibs on the hooves," Greg chuckled, "They're the best part!"

After dinner they returned to their room to pick up a robe for Greg and several large, soft towels for them both. "The hot pools are on the other side of the garden-- men's, women's, and one very private group for couples-- but since we're the only guests we can have our pick." Greg said as they left their room and strolled down the polished wood of the porch toward the hot springs.

The moon was rising, full and golden, as they eased themselves into the largest pool in the couple's area. Renamon's fur floated out around her, her ruff forming a large buoyant pad around her head as she sank in to her neck. Below the water, her tail had expanded into a thick torpedo shape that wavered in the slight current of the pool. Greg noticed this and began quietly humming _Yellow Submarine_. Renamon shut him up by the expedient method of kissing the living hell out of him.

"Whoa!" he gasped when they finally broke off the kiss. "Is it hot in here or is it just me?"

"Hot?," Renamon grinned evilly, "that would be _me_."

Greg laughed, "Yeah, you sure-- are-- " he trailed off as Renamon rose up out of the water and swung one leg over him where he sat, leaning against the edge of the pool. Water cascaded out of her fur and her ruff sleeked down, molding itself to the swells of her hidden breasts. The intensity of her icy gaze took Greg aback for a moment and then she was in his lap, wrapped around him, her mouth on his neck, licking, kissing and nibbling. He couldn't help but respond. The heat of the water still trapped in her fur soaked into him and he began to feel a little light-headed as he held her tightly, caressing her long torso.

She took the lead, making love to him with an intensity he had never experienced before until he spasmed beneath her. Then Renamon shuddered and cried out and her tail broached the surface of the pool, throwing a fan of spray into the air that caught the moonlight and sparkled-- looking almost as if she had launched a Diamond Storm attack. The sheer beauty of it all as her back arched and her powerful body trembled against his completely stopped any of Greg's rational thoughts and he let the moment wash into him and through him-- one perfect moment that seemed to last an eternity.

They dragged themselves from the pool before the heat and their own exhaustion caused them to pass out. Renamon shook herself, throwing off a fine spray of droplets and then summoned her inner strength and began to glow. Her Power Paw flames rippled outward from her feet and hands across her body and as they went, small billows of steam wafted from her body until her fur was completely dry.

Greg was slowly toweling himself off, still watching his beautiful partner when the first missiles struck.


	24. The Truth

Chapter 24  
The Truth

The fist blast's concussion slapped Greg like a giant hand. He flew through the air, hit something hard and unyielding with his hip, and somersaulting into the pool. He surfaced, sputtering and called out for Renamon.

"Here!" she yelled to him as he dragged himself out of the pool and fumbled his digivce out of the pocket of his robe. She was crouched at the edge of the line of cedar trees that bordered the rear of the pool. Her fur was ragged and singed but otherwise she looked unharmed. "It was a Pteramon!" she called out, pointing into the night sky.

Greg squinted through the mist rising off the pool and saw the distant glow of the digimon's engine exhaust as it banked into a tight turn. "It's coming back for another run!"

"My attacks don't have enough range in this body!" she called back.

Greg didn't bother replying. His fingers flew over his digivice and Kyuubimon burst out of the digivolution energy shell within seconds. He added a booster card and the ghost fire on her tailtips flared into actinic brightness. As the jet-propelled dinosaur swooped down for another attack run, Kyuubimon's Fox Tail Inferno attack streaked skyward like anti-aircraft tracer rounds in an old World War II movie. At least four of them hit the enemy, burning holes in its wings and knocking it off course. It wavered through the sky and its second salvo of missiles went wide, impacting on the mountain above them, but it didn't fall.

"Come back here, you bastard!" Kyuubimon screamed and leaped after the fleeing digimon. Three incredible bounds took her to the top of a granite spire that loomed over the hot springs and she flung herself into the air, tucking into a forward roll and flaring into a pure energy state-- the Dragon Wheel attack.

Greg watched in admiration as the flaming blue dragon's jaws began to overtake the frantically flapping Pteramon. Closer and closer-- almost within striking range--

"The General sends his regards," said a deep growling voice from behind him.

Greg instantly spun around and saw a Garurumon in full leap, jaws gaping, nearly on top of him. He reacted without thinking, rolling onto his back and kicking upward with both feet. He hit the underside of the Garurumon's jaw and snapped its head back and away from him. The snarling wolf-digimon jumped aside and then crouched to leap in again, muscles in haunches and shoulders bunching, obviously intending to overwhelm Greg with pure strength.

But the slight delay had given Greg time to collect his wits. He took one deep breath and poured energy into his right hand and then snapped it forward in a reverse punch. His fist came nowhere near the Garurumon but the white-hot beam of energy that shot out from his knuckles burned into the wolf's flank, stopping its attack and making it howl in agony.

"_Surprise!_" Greg yelled at his writhing assailant with savage glee.

The Garurumon snarled and Greg could feel the hairs on his neck lift as the digimon brought up its own attack energy. But before it could release its Howling Blaster attack, Kyuubimon slammed into its side, smashing it through the fence of tall bamboo that separated the pools from the garden.

Greg rushed after them and piled into the fight beside his partner. As Garurumon turned his head to snap at Kyuubimon, Greg slammed a powerful left hook into its exposed neck just behind its ear. Garurumon howled and swung a bone-crushing blow with its taloned fore paw. Greg took a long sidestep and rolled under the strike, grabbed the paw as it passed over his head and twisted it in a precise movement. Even on a huge, non-human body, the Aikido technique worked perfectly; Garurumon crashed into the ground, face first, and rolled over, legs kicking helplessly in the air.

Kyuubimon's attack was much more direct. She took the opening that Greg had given her and tore into Garurumon's exposed belly, using all the strength in her neck and shoulders to twist and rip her fangs through its flesh. Greg kicked aside Garurumon's last, feeble attempt at a claw strike and the huge wolf digimon burst into a cloud of glowing data bits.

Greg absorbed his share of the data, shuddering in the wonderful feeling beside his partner. "Wow," he said as the data cloud disappeared, "is _that_ what it's like? I didn't--" Then he noticed that he was still naked and most of the inn's digimon were lined up on the porch, staring at him. "Shit!" He scrambled back through the scattered chunks of bamboo and found his robe next to the pool. He shrugged it on and picked up his digivice from where he had dropped it when Garurumon attacked, When he looked up he saw Kyuubimon shooing everyone back inside the inn.

"Well," Greg said as he returned to his partner's side, "it looks like I _did_ underestimate old Greewaldt. Who knew he'd get digital allies so quickly? Nifty little assassination attempt he set up-- an obvious attack to draw you away and then another thug lurking in the shadows. Good thing he wanted Garurumon to deliver a message before the kill or I might not have--" He stopped as he noticed his partner's expression. "Uh-- Kyuubimon? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"What _else_ are you hiding from me?" she asked.

"Uh-- oh, you mean the--" he mimed a revere punch and brought up just enough energy to make his fist glow slightly.

"Yes-- well, _no_," she scowled. "I'm not unhappy about _that_. After I turned around from killing Pteramon, I saw Garurumon and knew that I couldn't reach you before he leaped-- so I was relived when you knocked him back with that special attack. But why didn't you _tell_ me about it? Can all digitized humans--"

"Ah-- no, no it's just me," Greg admitted, "and I haven't been able to do this for very long-- just since last night, in fact. I wanted it to be a surprise."

"That business with the gates," Kyuubimon said.

"Yeah, that-- uh-- how did you--"

Kyuubimon gave a little shudder and resumed her Rookie body. "I was spying on you," she said bluntly.

"Oh," Greg didn't know what else to say.

Renamon went angrily on, "It was reprogramming? You _modified_ yourself? Why would you _do_ that? When you tried it with digimon, it hardly ever worked and over half of them didn't even _survive!_ _Why_ would you take such a risk?"

"I-- I thought if I was better, stronger-- more like a _digimon_-- I might be--" he hesitated, sighed and then said,"--might be _worthy_ of you. I left you a letter in case I didn't--"

"How can you be so smart and so _stupid_ at the same time?" she practically yelled at him."'_Worthy?' _What the hell--- You-- you've been acting like an idiot since that evil cunt Gwen talked to you in the Virgina facility! I'm going to fucking feed her her own _entrails_ and I don't give a _damn_ if it upsets you! She's a lying, sneaking, _vile_--"

"No," Greg said in almost a whisper, "she was right."

Renamon stopped as if she'd hit a brick wall. "What?"

"I've tried to stop thinking about it, but--" he shook his head and walked away. He reached the edge of the porch and sat down, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. Renamon followed him after a moment and sat beside him, an arm-length away.

"That first day," Greg began suddenly, "the day I realized you were real. When I panicked and tried to pull the power on the system, you told me that if I didn't stop, you'd hurt me."

"I-- I was frightened," Renamon said. "I never would have--"

"But you _could_ have, couldn't you?" Greg asked, lifting his head from his hands so that he could look her in the eyes. "And you knew it, even then."

"I-- I'm not sure--"

"Do you really love me?" Greg asked.

"What?" Renamon gasped, "How can you even _ask_ me that? Haven't I showed you again and again--"

"You came to rescue me-- you fought an army-- for someone you didn't really know." Greg went on, seemingly ignoring her question, "But the Digital Dimension was under siege and I was the only one who knew enough about it to protect it. You _needed_ me. And the night when we first made love," Greg hurried on before Renamon could reply, "Gwen was on the edge of seducing me. If she had succeeded, she probably would have been able to eventually talk me into surrendering and that would probably have been the end of digimon and the Digital Dimension. But you interrupted us at just the right moment. _You_ did just what _she_ had been intending to do, and from then on I had no real choice about what side I was on."

Renamon made no answer. Her eyes were wide and her pupils had shrunk to pinpoints and her face was frozen into an unreadable mask.

"You were so concerned about all the people who had died-- at least you _said_ you were-- right when my resolve was wavering. You were the one that pointed out that the Digital World would never be safe unless something drastic was done. Over and over again, your timing was perfect. The new Digital Dimension is now growing and thriving thanks to _you--_ even more than me."

Renamon said nothing.

Greg stared into her eyes, "Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me it's all coincidence."

Renamon looked away from him.

Greg let his head hang. "I suppose I can't blame you. After all, the core of your programming is to protect the Digital Dimension and digimon as a whole. You've just been doing what you were designed to do."

"Don't you _dare_ fucking talk to me like I'm some _thing_," Renamon snarled without lifting her head. Her hands clenched into fists in her lap. "I'm _not_ just a computer program! You've _said_ so."

"Yes," Greg muttered, "and I'm so goddamn _smart_, aren't I?" After a pause he abruptly stood up. "Well, everything is stable, now. There's nothing left that could possibly endanger the Digital Dimension, so you don't need me any more. I'm going to leave you to--"

"Do you hate me _that_ much for deceiving you?" The heat had gone out of her voice to be replaced by a plaintive note.

"Ghod, no!" Greg barked out a bitter laugh, "_Hate_ you? I _love_ you! Despite it all, I love you more than I would have ever dreamed possible. I--" His voice trembled and his hands shook. He swallowed. "And that's just the problem-- to be near you, to see you every day knowing you _didn't_ love me? I don't think I could stand it. I--"

"But I _do_ love you," Renamon said in a small shaky voice, "I love you _now_."

"I-- I don't--"

"Does it matter what twisted paths we've walked to get to where we are now? I've become so much more than I was at the beginning-- I've _learned_ to love you along the way!"

"How-- how can I believe you?"

Renamon squeezed her eyes shut and pounded her fists against the tops of her thighs in frustration. "I don't _know!_" she wailed.

"I-- I--" Greg's chest was aching so badly that he could barely force his words out, "I _want_ to believe you, but--"

"_Please_, Greg," Renamon looked up at him again and there were tears in her eyes, "You're right-- just for the sake of the Digital Dimension, I _don't_ need you any more. So, if I was only using you, why would it matter to me, now?" She held out her hand to him, pleading, "It's because I love you. Can't you forgive me? I love you and I want to be with you forever. Isn't that enough?"

Greg stared down at her. In all their time together, he had never seen Renamon cry before. He felt it all-- all the deceptions, all the betrayals, all the deaths-- all pressing down like a cold, dark weight on his soul. And balanced against that terrible burden was a simple gesture of trust. All he had to do to shrug off the weight that was crushing him, was to reach out--

--and take her hand.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

**Author's Note:**

** Thank you all so much for reading. And thanks for making this my best reviewed story yet! The critiques, corrections and encouragements gave me the strength to go on. **

** BTW, don't worry about the few unresolved bits-- there will be an epilogue chapter with a couple of scenes and some summary. In fact, if there is something in particular you'd like info on, let me know and I'll see if I can't include it.**

**And if you're reading this long after I've finished, don't worry. A review/critique still gives me help for future works. Or my email is on my profile page if you want to do it that way.**

**Digimon forever!**

**-Eqgz**


	25. Epilogue

Epilogue

Glimpses of the Future

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

High General Desmond Greenwaldt drummed his fingers impatiently on the railing of the balcony as he looked out over Terminus Village. The fires had been put out but there were several columns of smoke still rising from the smoldering ruins. Thanks to his intelligence network, the coup attempt had been discovered early on and he'd been able to quash it with a minimum of effort but there had still been several hard fights.

The General glanced at his watch. _That damned boy is late_, he thought. _Of all mornings to have to do without my coffee-- _The General never went to the Ham and Eggs Cafe in the mornings any more-- a consistent routine like that would be on open invitation to anyone contemplating assassination-- but he still favored its coffee above any other kind and always sent his aid for a full carafe each morning.

Colonel Prescott's betrayal had shocked and saddened him. He had considered the man to be a friend. They had argued about the right way to go about escaping from this world but it had always seemed to Greenwaldt to be only a disagreement in methods, not goals. For the man to attempt to break away, taking troops and skilled men with him to live elsewhere on the continent was unimaginable. Could the man not see that unity and cohesion was the only thing that kept them going?

As Greg had said, there were several gates that could be used to escape from Terminus. Each one was guarded in a different manner but they all had one thing in common: It took a brave, intelligent, and determined individual to make it through-- and without the help of a devoted and well-trained digimon partner, it was impossible. The thing that Greg _hadn't_ told them was that each gate was designed for a single use. Once the tamer and partner had defeated the guardian and gone through, the gate disappeared. One brave person couldn't open the way out for everyone else.

Greenwalt had determined to find a way to keep the gates open. After his take-over of the government, he had made it a capital crime to discover a gate without reporting it and had made several group assaults, trying to keep the guardian alive but controlled and the gate open as large groups tried to pass through. So far he had failed but he was certain that he would eventually succeed.

But not if men like Colonel Prescott undermined him.

Greenwaldt told himself that he had no _personal_ grudge against the man but he was glad that he had been captured alive. A public execution would convince the population that no rebellion would be tolerated and that the only possible course of action was to work together under the direction of their High General. He just hoped he wouldn't have to preside over the man's death without his morning coffee.

Greenwaldt heard a noise from behind him. _At last!_ He thought and turned back into the room. He crossed the study and was about to seat himself at his desk when the large double doors burst open with such violence that one of them came off its hinges completely. In the doorway crouched a Lynxmon, red flames rippling along its body, its blazing eyes fixed on the General where he stood frozen in shock.

"The Colonel sends his _regards_," the Lynxmon snarled-- and leaped..

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

New America was a larger than average nation. Though the borders kept changing, it covered most of what had been Virginia, Maryland, Delaware, Eastern Pennsylvania, and New Jersey. Washington D.C. was the capital and the central district still looked remarkably like it had before the Change. It had struggled with neighboring states for a few years but after a while things had settled into a fairly peaceful and stable situation.

President Gwendolyn Sundstrom found that negotiations worked much better for her than outright force but she was both willing and _very_ able to wield force if the occasion called for it. Currently she was engaged in what had once been called "shuttle diplomacy" with both the Republic of Texas and Northern California.

The Texans were the easy ones. She could charm them out of anything it seemed. Strangely, they had an attitude that was even more laid-back than the old stereotype of the Californians. Plus, the subtle sexism of their culture made them constantly underestimate her.

The Northern Californians were a lot more worrisome to her. New America's Digital Defense Force scared the pants off of most other nations and was one of the best bargaining chips she had. Not so with the Northern Californians. Minister Funakoshi's own troops were rumored to be at least equal to her own but nobody seemed to know for sure. The current mission's purpose was not only to work out a treaty-- possibly an alliance-- with them but to also get a decent assessment of their strength.

President Sundstrom skimmed the report on her desk in the Oval Office. She would read it in detail later but she always preferred to get a summary directly from the source. She punched a button on the intercom and said, "Send in General O'Brien and bring in a tray of tea." She stood and crossed half-way to the door to greet her old friend.

The General saluted crisply with a polite, "Madam President."

Gwen nodded and replied, "General O'Brien."

As soon as the aid had put down the tray and left the office, the two women relaxed, hugged each other warmly, and kissed each other on the cheek.

Gwen stepped back and gave her friend the once-over. "No surfer's tan, Melissa?" she kidded. "Here I arraigned a nice California vacation for you and I bet all you did was work!"

"I don't tan, I _burn_," Melissa grinned back at her. It was a joke. Melissa no longer tanned _or_ burned. Like Gwen she had "frozen" herself while in peak condition by entering a digital gate and then returning to Earth. Her pale, freckled skin was now permanent and unchanging.

They sat together on one of the couches and Gwen poured tea for them both. "I've glanced at your report," she said. "So, Funakoshi's tamers lived up to the rumors?"

Melissa nodded. "The old fart knew exactly why I was there and offered to have his students put on a demonstration for my entertainment. Gwen--" she shook her head in amazement, "--they're _scary_. I've brought back some video footage but it really doesn't do them justice. If I can boil down my recommendations to you into one sentence?"

"Please do."

"Let's _never_ make those guys mad at us."

Gwen nodded thoughtfully and nibbled at a sweet biscuit. "It's probably good that we're on separate coasts with all the Wild Lands in between. Not much reason to butt heads. Or is there?" She was referring to the other reason she had chosen Melissa to head that particular diplomatic mission.

Melissa shook her head. "I didn't see her. They told me she'd left almost six months ago."

"Left? I thought she was their bad-ass in chief."

"Was. The old guy doesn't say a damn thing straight-out but I also talked to the students and I get the impression she went looking for Greg."

"Digital Dimension then? Well, good luck to her-- she's going to need it! And even if she's still harboring a grudge she'll be far away from us." Gwen sighed with a feeling of relief.

"What about our digital colonies?" Melissa asked. "Isn't it possible Lisa might--"

Gwen laughed. "You've been away, so you haven't heard. The radio communication problem we've been having? It turns out that there _isn't_ any interference over there."

"No? Then why can't the four colonies reach each other by radio?"

Gwen grinned. "We sent out twelve mapping drones in all directions from Eastam, programmed to fly in a straight line and turn back when they lost radio contact. That was over a week ago. They're still going."

Melissa's face went through several amusing expressions as she figured out what that statement meant, ending in one of amazement. "At 350 miles per hour, that means--"

"Nine days," Gwen told her, "over 150,000 miles in diameter and still going with no end in sight." She paused to let that sink in and then continued. "So we did a little test. Sent out a powerful radio burst from the big tower in Southam on an isolated frequency and had the other three colonies listen for it. Only Westam has picked it up so far-- _nine hours later_. The Digital Dimension is _unbelievably_ huge. And there may be more than one-- there may be _hundreds_-- we just don't know.

"That means we have all the room to expand we could ever need!"

"Yes-- no more worries about a population explosion. Discovering that digitized people can still have children is no longer an impending disaster. I wish _all_ our problems would vanish as easily. With Trailmon lines connecting the colonies through DC, we can still keep in the colonies in close enough contact for mutual support." Gwen paused and then smiled slightly, "But to keep the colonies tied to us, I'm going to need good Governors, men with good diplomatic skills, men with the ability to fight when necessary-- you never know what kind of hostile digimon might pop up suddenly--, men with intelligence, men with courage, men with freckles--"

"_What?_"

"Or _women_," Gwen shrugged. "Are you interested in the job?"

Melissa hesitated, hardly believing what she'd just heard. "I-- well-- would I get to pick which colony?"

"Ah," Gwen said, her smile growing larger, "Isn't there a handsome guy named Rick running the Survey Corps in Northam? I've heard some rumors--" Aside from her diplomatic and fighting skills, that was one thing Gwen really liked about General O'Brien: She blushed so prettily.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

They called her Lisa the Blade but not because of any preference she had in weapons. She wore one long utility knife at the back of her belt but could effectively use anything that came to hand from pebbles to newel posts. She had grown much taller in the years she had spent with Master Funakoshi but had hardly gained any extra weight at all. She got her name because she was long and lean and sharp, like the blade of a sword. She lived and breathed the combat arts until Master Funakoshi had declared that there was nothing more he could teach her. She stayed in California, serving the emerging government, teaching young fighters and tamers, and training herself until she felt she could grow no stronger. Then there was nothing to keep her there. She was respected by most, feared by all, but truly loved by none. None but her partner.

She said her farewells to the few people who she considered friends and then to her Master. He was sad to see her go but knew that she had her own destiny to pursue and would be happier doing so.. They parted in a small, seemingly insignificant room of the mountain-top school. All it contained was several tatami mats and a gate to the Digital Dimension. The digital gates were all different. They could look like anything: a door: a cave: a long hallway; a staircase; or in this case, an old blue British Police Box that clashed with the traditional Japanese decor. Greg had installed it there as a sort of joke but since neither Lisa nor the old man had ever watched Doctor Who, it was lost on them.

"You are always welcome here, child," Funakoshi said kindly.

Thank you, sensei," she said, bowing low in respect. "I will return someday, I'm sure. Hopefully I will bring another of your old students with me."

"Ah, that would be good. I would like to see Greg again. It has been too long."

Lisa and Fangmon flowed gracefully into the faux TARDIS and emerged in another world.

"Which way?" Fangmon rumbled to his tamer.

Lisa put one hand lightly on his neck and scanned the surroundings. "No idea," she admitted. "I think I'll just have to trust my instincts-- _that_ way will do for now."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Two figures struggled through a howling sand storm. They carried a heavy chest between them which would have been awkward enough even if they hadn't been trying to ascend a narrow trail cut into the face of a gigantic stone cliff. They had to pause and grip the rock whenever a powerful gust threatened to topple them into the abyss below but made agonizingly slow progress, nevertheless.

At last they reached the mouth of a cave and scrambled inside out of the wind. They went deep into the cave until the howling of the storm was only a distant moan and set down their burden.

Greg unwound the hood and cloak from around himself, shedding torrents of sand as he did so. "Damn! I think I swallowed half the desert!"

Renamon shook herself violently and a cloud of dust surrounded her for a moment before settling to the floor of the cave. "At least the storm has covered our tracks. Even the Slythemon won't be able to pick up our trail now."

"Creepy-assed bastards," Greg sneered, "I wouldn't have minded kicking the snot out of a few of them."

"Mmm," Renamon agreed distractedly while combing more sand out of her ruff, "the problem was that there were _thousands_ of them."

"Yeah," Greg agreed. "Too bad. Oh well, we've got what we came for," he patted the chest, "plus a little bit more. And the Kingdom of the Spire has lost so much face they'll pretend they had no intentions of invading in the first place. Everybody wins!"

"Except the Spires," Renamon pointed out.

"Fuck 'em," Greg muttered cheerfully as he worked at the lock of the chest. "If they hadn't treated you so badly, hadn't stolen your pendant, they could have gone merrily on their warmongering way without any interference from me. They're lucky I didn't drop their palace into the Great Rift."

"Could you have done that?"

"I think so," Greg said. "This dimension's so damned big now that it's got too much 'reality inertia' or something like that for me to work any major changes but I can still do some decent demolition if I concentrate hard enough. Why they built that place right on the edge of the Rift, I'll never figure out--"

"So why not demolish that lock instead of cursing and struggling with it?"

Greg looked up with a sour expression, "Hey, _I'm _supposed to be the genius around here!" He turned back to the chest, glared at it, and there was a sharp crack. He opened the lid and lifted a golden pendant set with a large sapphire out of it. "Here it is! And-- _wow!_ This is _great!_"

"Don't tell me the crown jewels are in there, too?"

Greg grinned. "First, your pendant!" He motioned for her to lift up her ruff and fastened the chain around her neck.

Renamon touched it with a finger as she let her ruff fall back in place to conceal it. "I treasure it because it's a gift from you," she said, "but was it worth the risks of taking on an entire kingdom of homicidal zealots to get it back?"

"_Totally_ worth it!" Greg nodded emphatically. "And mostly a lot of _fun_, if you recall. Besides, you never know when you might need it."

"Never," she said, shaking her head, "When I need to power up or digivolve you'll be there to do it for me. Giving me this power--" she touched the pendant through her ruff again, "--that was a wonderful _gesture_, a sign that you considered me an equal and I love you even more for it. But you're _still_ my tamer. You always will be."

"I'm still the boss, huh?" he grinned at her.

"Yes, Greg," Renamon said in a completely serious, dangerously meek voice.

"Alright then," he grinned evilly and reached into the chest. He pulled out a couple of exquisite gowns and spread them on the floor of the cave. "Lie down on these, face-down and close your eyes."

She gave him one quizzical glance but did as she was told. She heard him take something else out of the chest that clattered metallicly and then cross over and kneel next to her. "Don't tell me the Princess was into bondage," she muttered. "If those are golden manacles you've got I bet they won't fit around my wrists."

"Oh, they _are_ gold, alright," Greg said, "and gem-encrusted, to boot! But they're something much more useful than a pair of handcuffs. Hey, no peeking!"

"I was blinking sand out of my eyes," Renamon said.

"_Sure_ you were," Greg chided her playfully. "For that bit of disobedience I decree that you will have an extra dozen strokes!" And he swept the priceless hair brushes the full length of her back. He brushed her until every last grain of sand was gone and her fur gleamed as bright as the gold of the brush backs.

"Ohhh," Renamon breathed, as she rose to a sitting position, "that was _wonderful!_"

Greg smiled at her and hefted the brushes in his hands, "I think we ought to keep these as souvenirs, don't you?"

"Gold's heavy," Renamon said, "and we do so much traveling--"

Greg thought he detected something in her tone of voice. "Would you like to settle down someplace for a while? I thought you enjoyed all the exploring we've been doing but if--"

"Oh, I do!" She hurried to reassure him, "I love seeing all the new places and new people but-- but I think we may _need_ to have a stable home for a while."

Greg cocked his head questioningly.

"Well--" Renamon rose to her knees and shifted so that she showed her profile to Greg. She placed her hands far back on her hips and arched her back. "See anything?" she asked.

"The goddess I'm seriously thinking of defiling," Greg grinned at her.

Renamon smiled sweetly, "Something _different_," she clarified.

Greg knew every powerful curve of her body and with the pose she was holding, from under her ribs to between her hipbones, her belly should have been straight and flat. But it wasn't. It wasn't much of a difference but it was definitely there; a sleek little bulge.

Greg, genius and cool-headed fighter that he was, responded in the time-honored tradition of turning into a babbling idiot.

/\/\/\ The End /\/\/\


End file.
